Who I Am
by MsLanna
Summary: He cannot remember who he is, he cannot even remember yesterday. To find out his identiy, he begins a journal that records his return to his old life.
1. Day 1

**Day 1**

They say I will live.

They say it will take much more time than it already has, but I will live.  
I cannot remember how long it has already taken.

They say, I should write this all down so I will remember.

They say, I might remember again - one day.  
But they also say, I might forget what I know now then.

I don't know if they are right.  
I don't know who they are.  
They look at me with sad eyes, and I feel that I have seen them before. But I do not know.

I do not remember.

I don't know who I am, and neither do they.

A child has found me in a street, believing me dead. And I must have scared it terribly by opening my eyes. Now I am here and nobody is looking for me. They say, my finger prints and retina scans match none in the registers, not of Coruscant, not anywhere else. But neither is there a bounty on my head.

I am nobody.

And nobody is looking for me.


	2. Day 2

**Day 2**

I read the entry of yesterday.

I know I wrote it, but I can't remember. The longer I stare at the flimsy the more confused I get. I understand now, why they didn't give me a data pad. I recognize my handwriting.

I wrote - but I don't remember.

They said that would happen. I believe them now.  
I will write everything down, even if reading it is creepy. I have already lost a month. But that does not mater much, I can't even remember.

They said, I needed a name and they are right. They have names and they wear them on little nameplates on their shirts. It is a good thing, because I cannot remember the names. I know I must have seen them before, they have told me their names many times. But I can't remember.

I closed my eyes to think about it, I tried to find anything that connected me to my past. In the thick fog that clouded my memory, little rung out, and even less that was a name. I was in the fog for a long time, almost like walking, trying out sounds.

My name is Lancer. For now. It sounds about right, especially when I think about free-lancers. It is not much of a clue, though, since you can do anything free lance. But I like the idea that I am my own boss, that I decide what to do. Because I should decide. I know what is right and what is wrong.

They ask me how I can know, but I cannot explain. It is like writing - when they put the pen in my hand, I knew how to do it. And I also know that it is important to know right from wrong. It is fundamental, essential -- without this knowledge, you are nothing. 

_Rape is wrong -- and so is slavery, theft, murder. This I know._

When I look into the mirror and see Lancer, his face is strange. I should recognize it, but something about it is wrong. The eyes, for example, big dark eyes with dark brows. I think they should be more slit-like and the brows belong closer to them. And the nose is much too short. My cheekbones do not protrude enough, my ears are too big and I cannot remember that sensual mouth at all. 

Lancer looks back at me, and I know, we have very little in common. The body is one thing. I am well-muscled, not overly, but -- shaped. I go into the gym every day and work out. It is something to do and if I liked to be in shape before, well I certainly still liked it now.

But now, I like running best. I hold on to the rails of the conveyor with both hands and close my eyes. I can believe that I am running to forget for a while, I run and close my eyes and lose track of the world. When I open my eyes, I will walk back into my life, take up the daily routines, my family.

But, of course, I never do. When I open my eyes, I look at the monitor that displays any kind of landscape going by. I see the gym around me and I know that I have not run far enough to escape. I am covered with sweat, tired and still nobody.

_I cannot run -- this I know._


	3. Day 3

Day 3

I cannot remember writing the two days before. I whack my head. I try to hammer the act in: "Every day I write. Everyday, I will write." **Remember!** Only tomorrow I will know if it worked.

They say, I should write down what I do in a day. But this isn't much, and I's boring. I get up at seven, I shower, and I shave. I shave my head, too. Somehow the short dark stubble is irritating me, so I cut it off. Breakfast is served at eight, I sit in the room with many other patients, I cannot remember any of them.

There is the lady that says she is my mother. There is a man who says he is a droideka. I know the word, how I know, I'm not sure. I know what a droideka is and he is not one. I laugh when he activates his shields or tries to roll off. There is a girl saying she is the Queen of Coruscant -- she also says she is a tea kettle. There is spyboy, who believes that at the Emperor himself is after him. He always carries broken electronics to monitor his Majesty's activities.

I wonder if I am the only one with a memory problem.

They say I am.  
They say, they have no place for me to go, I have no money.  
They are wrong.

_I have money, I am not a poor man. I have a ship -- this I know._

They showed me pictures of all kinds of ships, and I tell them mine is not among them. They exchange meaningful glances. They don't believe me. But I know I have a ship. I can't remember what it looks like, but I would recognize it, I'm sure.

After breakfast I have therapy, mostly finding out what I can do and what not.  
I can write, read, calculate and know everyday objects and their uses. I know of many places, though I don't know if I have ever been there or not. When they show me blotches of ink, I see blotches of ink. I don't think my imagination is very good. But I know many species, I can tell a male Hutt from a female.

They are surprised.

What I don't know is current politics. This government is an Empire. When they showed me a picture of Lord Vader, who is second in command, I said: "He looks like me." 

They exchanged more meaningful glances. They shook their heads.

But he did look like me, only his face is _different._ I cannot explain it to them. They don't like to hear that I think my face is all wrong. I think, it worries them.

What I don't know is how do I link all this information, everything that I _do_ know together, and how it relates to me. I know many streets on Coruscant, but I cannot link them to anything I might have done. I knew what a flat looks like in general, but I don't know what mine was like. I knew various vocations, but I could not remember _my_ profession.

I pace around the park until lunch is served, and then I go spend time in the gym. Sometimes I have more talks with the doctors. I eat dinner, I write things down.

This is not enough. I must see and find all objects I know about. I must get to a computer terminal, I need more information.


	4. Day 4

Day 4

I looked at the journal and said, "I know this book. I have written in it."

I could not remember what or how often, though. But I can learn again. I can remember again.

They say, they cannot give me free access to a terminal; it would be against the rules. But I can use one when they are with me. I get an hour each day. But they have given me a small pad and I can borrow data cards from a small library. The data is old. The data is censored and filtered many times.

_This data is useless -- this I know._

In one hour I cannot do much. I looked at Coruscant, but I know it, it is not my planet. I looked at Corellia, but neither is that my home. I looked at Naboo and Commenor. I listened to their languages, to their music. I looked at their famous faces. But nothing.

I am not of those planets. And the only face I recognized was Lord Vader. I think that this, too, worries them. I should remember the faces of holo-stars. I should recognize the voices of the known singers. I don't.

And if this is the speed with which I look through the galaxy, I could as well try to find a waste-bug on Coruscant. Well, a specific waste-bug. Finding one should not be a problem at all. I read from the library. There is a map of the galaxy on one wall. I can find Coruscant on it with ease. The same with places like Corellia, Nal Hutta. Tatooine, Kessel, Sluis Wan. I know this galaxy well. Maybe I have been an interstellar travel agent. The thought makes me laugh, I cannot imagine that at all.

But none of the names ring any special bells. Only the most important places are named, too, mostly in the Core. Probably, I come from an unimportant planet. But if I did, what was I doing here? No legal business, legal meant you were registered somewhere. I wasn't . This left too many unpleasant possibilities.

Why was I not registered? Or had somebody tampered with my files? How high in the hierarchy did you have to be, to delete a whole person? As high as the Emperor himself? Maybe I should just go and ask him. But now I was thinking like spyboy. That is bad.

I searched for a picture showing his face. There is none. He always wears a hood that hides his face. Maybe I should try that, too.

I drape a towel over my head in front of the mirror.

I still look all wrong.


	5. Day 5

Day 5

I am confined to my room. A camera watches me. I wonder what they think this will achieve. It was just an impulse, and why should I of all people know that my fist is strong enough to break the mirror? It is.

Now it is bandaged. The bleeding has stopped, but it is still throbbing. I wonder if I am supposed to be in pain. I did not feel any. Of course, they had given me pills, painkillers, and I had pretended to take them. Those were not painkillers. They were tranquillisers. I will not take such pills unless they stuff them down my throat.

Let them try.

I asked, if I could at least have a pad and some data cards.

I could, but I could not concentrate very well. It was not because of the camera, it was my hand. It should not have been hurt. The shards should not have been able to cut me. I look at the bandaged hand.

I must ask them why I have no other bandages. They said, I was close to death, but there are no scars to prove it. I want to see my medical file.

The asked me about women.

I know about women, I did not understand their question.

They hoped, I might remember a specific woman - a woman I love. Love is a strong emotion; it might be easy to remember.

I lay back on the bed.

They asked me to describe the type of woman I would be interested in.

They are strange.

How do you describe intelligence, wit and devotion? What colour does courage have? Or loyalty?

I close my eyes.

She would have to be all that, and strong and weak, hard and gentle, mine and free. Everything else is secondary. Don't they know that few people marry their epitome of beauty?

I hope she misses me.

I hope she searches for me.

I hope, she exists.

_I would love her -- this I know._


	6. Day 6

Day 6 

I made a note and laid it on my memory. I asked for my file. I asked how I could be so unscathed when I was close to death.

They sigh. They nod.

They give me my file.

"Please try not to forget it again, " they say.

My file is strange. Almost all my inner organs were ruptured, squashed or misplaced when I was found. It was as if a huge fist had squeezed me to death. Only that at one point the skin should break, shouldn't it? Something should have spilled. But it didn't.

I have been found almost naked. Socks and pants - that's all. And only the blood tricking out of my mouth and ears was any indication that something was wrong with me. Bruises and contusions had been found, but nothing to match my inner injuries. They kept me unconscious for six weeks so I could heal.

I wonder what can cause such injuries. Maybe an explosion? Or a high-level shock blaster? I do not know how I know such things. I must look up weapons. I must see, if I am any good with them.

I looked up for any explosions in the area I had been found in. There were many. Things seem to go boom on Coruscant all the time. I think there were even more explosions, many of them in the lower levels have most likely not been reported.

I read the article about the explosions, but not all are mentioned. People got killed, but nobody is listed missing. A whole storey exploded, a balcony broke off due to one explosion and killed a passer-by many levels below. A speeder crashed into a living quarter, a bank has been robbed, fire works had gone crazy, and a man killed himself and his family.

This does not work. If I want to remember I must go to those places and feel them all over again. Reading will not do any good. I write down a list of places to visit. I have believe that this will work.

I must believe.


	7. Day 7

Day 7

I asked them why they kept me alive. I am nobody and it is expensive.

They say, that is what doctors do.

I do not believe them.

They said that I have such a dark tan, I must have been outside a lot. They are right. My skin is dark, almost brown. So I laid down and thought of outside. I take a walk in the park everyday. It gives me something to do.

I try to remember outside before the blackout. But I am not sure what I see, is it a positive or a negative? Is the rolling landscape around me made up from roaring waves in a black ocean, or is it made of sand dunes, bleached by the blistering sunlight? The sensation pouring over me, is it the heat of the sun scorching me, or torrents of rain in a storm whipping up the sea? Is it midday or black of night?

I don't know which image is right, light or darkness, night or day, positive or negative -- evil or good? Or is it that I am indeed standing between both sides, looking either way?

I can almost taste the rain on my face, this is important.

I can feel the dust grating between my teeth, this is important, too.

They say, just because I didn't see any land, it does not mean there wasn't any. They say, it does not have to be the whole planet, that is a desert. They are right. But if I do not believe that there was no land, because I saw none, I have nothing to start from.

I need the free use of a computer and they cannot give it. I will get it still. I don't know how yet, but I will. I need more information and they-

_They cannot help me -- this I know._

At least, they took the camera away. I am freer now in what I do.

I pace.

Realizing this, I stop myself and go to the gym. There I can walk for hours without end, to the end of the galaxy and back. It is sad that they have no simulations for walking between the stars. Not in real-time, of course, you'd never get anywhere.

They probably do it not to encourage megalomania. Imagine: the Queen of Coruscant walking amidst the stars. how soon would they all be her stars? Or tea kettles? I don't want to own the stars; I only want to own my past.

_One day I will -- this I know_.


	8. Day 8

Day 8

I read the journal - no, it's more than reading, it is looking back. The book has become something I remember, something I can relate to. I know that it is my memory. I seem to make progress in remembering, but it is too slow, much too slow.

Today they asked me about religion. They say that for some people it is the most important thing in life. I read some, I thought some. Getting access of a free computer is the most important thing for me. In a way, it is my religion. So until I reach this goal, the computer will be my sole God.

No, this does not look right. Sole God - sole god - solegod. That's about right, still not perfect, but I can't put my finger on the wrong bit. The computer is my solegod. Yes, it sounds right.

I found that religion is often about right and wrong. But as often it is biased. Some religions even claim that you cannot do any right if you do not belong to its followers. This cannot be right. That is nonsense. Right will always be right.

I remember --

I remember a teacher. He asked me the following: Imagine, in a room a man and a woman. the woman lies on a table and the man cuts her belly open…

I remember my answer. It was the right one and it was important to be right.

_Justice must think -- this I know._


	9. Day 9

Day 9

They left me alone in the library.

I found a lot of data about computers. I also found out that I know a lot about them, too. I leafed through many data cards and it was as if a door opened in my mind and I came into a bright room of knowledge. It was almost like remembering.

I found I can convert my pad into a holonet receiver. I can also make it transmit. And I can do so without them finding out. But I must be careful, they must not notice.

Most things I need will be easy to get. Wire, insulation, tools - I can borrow those from the janitor's closet without him noticing. It is the transmitter/receiver that worries me most. I cannot steal that. It would be wrong.

I can ask spyboy. His whole room is full of broken electronics. He might be willing to give me what I need, if I can convince him that I am on his side.

It is sad to see him stare at empty monitors and tune broken switches. He welds with a broken piece of tube; he adjusts the frequencies on a broken cooking unit. If you go near him, he will accuse you of spying on him. But I have to go near him, I have to convince him.

I have a plan.

I asked them for a bag of stone-sweets.

They wondered why and I said I liked them. After exchanging meaningful glances, they wanted to know what else I like to eat, what I like to drink? What I don't like?

Living frogs, I said. I meant it, they taste disgusting.

They wanted to know how I knew. They had never served a living frog here.

I shrug. Most likely the same way people know that roasted boots would taste disgusting. But they are right. it is discouraging to see how I oscillate between knowing myself and being a complete stranger. But they made me think. I really do not know what I like to eat. The food in the hospital is okay, I guess. I do not know anything else.

If I am by chance a vegetarian for religious reasons, I hope the god in question would understand. I smirk. Right now I cannot think of myself as a very religious being.


	10. Day 10

Day 10

They gave me the sweets today. I ate one immediately and offered them one, too. They declined. I can understand. They do not taste exceptional. But I have the first thing I need.

They asked me about the sweets of my childhood.

I don't know any. I am not sure that I don't remember or if there were none.

I like candy.

But did I get it when I was a child?

I do not know. I hope so, it would have made me happy.

I spent a lot of time around spyboy. I was not obvious about it. I am good at that. I found that nobody noticed I was doing things that would keep me close to him. He mutters to himself often. He is easy to overhear. I need to know what he fears most, I must know what he believes the Emperor is plotting against him. If he believes I am on his side, he will help me.

But it is a sad occupation.

Spyboy is living in a place I cannot enter. His universe is dark and sad, full of danger revolving around him like a maelstrom. Everything that occurs, happens to harm him, to cast him into oblivion.

I think many people think they are the centre of the universe, and for their small everyday life universes that might be true. But once you believe that to be true for everything - you end up here. I wonder why spyboy chose such a dark place.

Take the empress. Everything is revolving around her, too. She rules the galaxy, and her universe is full of love and adoration for her. Everything happens because she wants it to, everything is going as she pleases.In short, the universe she has revolving around her is good, while the universe spyboy created is bad. the truth lies somewhere in between.

I do not believe the galaxy revolves around me. Would it not have stopped, when I lost myself? Would it not have told me who I was, so it could go on?

There would be nothing much to revolve around. I'd sit in the middle of a million stars like a black hole.

I wrote a report about spyboy. I laid down a plan to poison him. Because I had spent the day overhearing his muttering, I could weave his own suspicions into it. Now I only have to present it to him in a way he will believe.

I laid aside a red stone-sweet to place in his jelly. Stone-sweets look like pills, or better, like people think pills look like. It is a joke, for children. In two days we will have jelly for dessert.

I kept the other sweets. I like candy, and even if it is not the best candy, I still do not like the thought of throwing it away. I eat another one.


	11. Day 11

Day 11

I asked them the names of the other inhabitants. They never use them themselves, but they did have them, didn't they?

They say, I don't have enough names yet. I do not understand, so they explain. The woman who thinks she is my mother is called Linda, and the Queen' name is Anathena, spyboy is actually named Sinar, an the droideka is Landen.

But that is not all. Each of them has a second name. The first name is for the use of friends and family, the second name for strangers, and to keep them apart. They say, there are many women called Linda in the galaxy, but with the second name, the surname, it was clear who was meant.

I doubt them. There are so many people in the galaxy, certainly there will be more than one Linda Whatever around. But I hold my tongue. I nod.

They asked me which name 'Lancer' was. The second, I am sure about that. Even if it is not my real name at all, it would be my second name. I can't think of a first name, though. It feels strange, as if nobody had ever used a first name on me for forever.

At lunch I talked to spyboy.

"Psst," I called to him under my breath. "Don't look, just listen." From the corner of my eye I could see how he turned back to face his plate quickly.

"You are Sinar, right? I think you might be in trouble." I looked around and eat a little, trying to appear completely inconspicuous.

"I'll drop something when I leave, look under your chair before you go." Judging by his reaction, he believed me enough to have a look later on. My pseudo-professional spy affectations did their job well.

I finished my meal and when I passed spyboy's chair, I stumbled and dropped my tray. While I collected my plate and cutlery, I shoved the prepared report under his chair. Then I left and did not look back. If this worked, he would come to me.

I thought a lot about my lack of a first name. Maybe I really had none. But then, even the Emperor had one, though few might know it. With Palpatine, it was probably more difficult to get at his last name.

Maybe outstanding people have only one name, _need_ only one. If you said 'Palpatine' the probability that you meant the Emperor was much higher than anything else. The same was true for Vader. Emperor Palpatine, Darth Vader, and now Lancer? Where did he lose his first name?


	12. Day 12

Day 12

Today they asked me about art. They showed me famous paintings, but I recognised none. Some were nice,; others were just blobs of colour and pint brush lines. I don't think all were made by humans, but they did not go into detail about it.

I looked at many paintings; they had several datacards full of them. I decided I didn't like abstract art. But neither was I fond of pictures that just copied what they depicted, mere replicas.

I liked pictures in between, those that showed things that were real, but with a twist; blue banthas, drawn with bold strokes with all edges and angles; or a Nubian garden cumulated from thousands of tiny smudges of colour. But best, I liked 'City in the Desert.' It was not really showing a city, because there was a sand storm, but if you looked from the right angle, you caught glimpse of the houses - yellow walls engulfed in the yellow swirls before and behind them, roofs almost visible through the curtain of dust.

It feels right to me. It feels like a picture of myself, all there, but hidden, almost visible but out of reach. I noted the name of the painter: Jasper Hen'da'dri. Maybe I can get a copy somewhere.

They gave me paint and a canvas to paint a picture of myself - of how I thought I should look. I stare at the white surface. I try to draw a sketch, but my drawing skills are nonexistent. It does not look like me, and even less like what I think I should look like.

I stare some more at the canvas and think. Maybe it is not important to be precise about this. Maybe it would be easier, it I tried it more in the way of the blue banthas. I paint the background first, it is all yellow and sandy, as in my favourite picture. I spend time on making little swirls of sand and thick brushes of paint.

Then I take the olive green paint and put an oval over the yellow, well, almost. I flatten the shape at the bottom, I need to add a neck and shoulders there. I use grey for the neck, and more olive for the shoulders. It looks abstract, not at all like a human, but so far I like it.

My fingers are splattered with colour. I wonder, and then -

I painted my face with the olive colour and then applied it to the canvas from there. The figure on the canvas is different now, a little more like me, and still less so. At least, I know where to put the eyes and nose now. I don't want to add ears at all, it seems wrong.

I used red and black for the eyes and nose, one line across the head where the eyes were, and one down in the middle. I painted the nose all the way until the head stopped, I didn't bother with a mouth. And then, I did add an ear, but only on the right side.

That was it. A swirly yellow background with a huge green blotch that was me with only one ear and no mouth. I read that the Nubian painter with the gardens cut off one of his ears, too. I wonder why, when it would have been easier just to paint yourself without it. That was me - more or less.

I looked at it for a long time and it was right, even though it was all wrong. I took a small brush and wrote in the low right corner 'Jasper Lancer's Alter Ego.'

I did not think of washing my face, so when spyboy came to my room, he was scared by my strange face paint.

"Disguise," I tell him secretively. "They cannot take a scan of my face when I obscure my features like this."

He nods and I hope I did not cause too much work for his guardian. If he insists on painting his face green every day, that might be trouble. I look up and down the corridor with much fussing. Then, in conspirator fashion, I closed the door, drew the shutters. Spyboy looked as if he approved of the precautions. Still he had a look into my closet before he sat down and held up the datacard I had given him

"Where did you get that?"

I glance around furtively before I sit down. "I have access to the holonet for an hour each day. Usually I am monitored by the doctors, but I managed to distract them. I wanted to find out about this - establishment."

Spyboy nodded knowingly, but didn't speak.

"Well, that is what I found. I thought it suspicious, that an inhabitant was watched so closely, so I dug a little deeper. And when I found this," I pused meaningfully, "I thought you should know about it."

Spyboy, I wonder why I refer to him as spyboy even after I know his name. Does his madness overlie his personality so much? Sinar, he looked thoughtful, pondering the probability of my story.

"Did they find out?" he finally asked.

I shook my head. "No, I copied the data into a hidden file. They suspect nothing. But I have to be careful. I cannot promise I will get another unwatched sitting anytime soon."

"What do you suggest to do next?" He kept staring at the datacard in his hand.

"Nothing," I said. "Pretend not to know. If the Emperor's men suspect nothing, they will go through with the plan as scheduled. Just look out for poison in your food."

It was obvious that I had passed a test with that answer. Finally, Sinar looked directly at me. A defiant fire was burning in his eyes.

"He will not get me like this," he declared. "Whatever he plans, I will always be a step ahead." Sinar looked at me. "Is there something you want from me?"

I shook my head slowly. "Not right now. I think we should pretend not to know each other." Lowering my voice to a whisper I continued. "If I could get into the holonet without them watching, I would keep an eye out for things concerning you, too."

Sinar nodded. "Who is it that is after you?"

"I don't know, they erased my memory," I told him. It was only half a lie. Maybe there was somebody after me; maybe this was not an accident. I could not know.

Placing a hand on my shoulder, Sinar got up. "It is a trick thex often use. Sometimes they even give you wrong memories and another life, just to make you believe." The fire in his eyes had been replaced by a deep sadness.

"Don't ever believe them," he said as he went out. "Never believe them for a second."

I sat on the bed for a while, pondering the meeting. Everything had gone well, Sinar now believed me to be his friend. If I managed to get the fake poison into his food tomorrow, my way into the holonet was free.

But I didn't feel happy. I felt sorry for spyboy, who would probably never be able to extract himself out of his self-imposed darkness.


	13. Day 13

Day 13

They asked me why I had painted a Mandalorian.

I said, I had painted me.

Then I must be Mandalorian, they argued. The body armour was unmistakable.

I thought about it. I read about Mandalorains. the library is not very extensive, there was little about them. Apparently they are a race of warriors that had existed for a very long time. They sided with Sith Lords, had their own civil war - their whole lives seemed to centre around fighting.

I shook my head. It did not feel like the kind of life I wanted. Especially siding with Sith Lords did not seem to be a good idea to me. I had stumbled over a very dated essay about them on a lost datacard that I had found behind a shelf. The card had been so old, that I had to tweak the pad into reading it. It seems that with the New Empire, new technology had come, too.

When I read the essay, it seemed to be of little account. Only two Sith were known of at any time, and none had been seen for hundreds of years. In the light of this new information it meant something. My potential people did not seem to care about justice - not as long as it did not concern them.

It is not clear what became of them in the Clone Wars, the essay was too old to tell. Though they have their own planet, they are nomadic, which might explain why I am here and not home. Still it does not explain, why I am in no database. And nothing except the armour strikes me as really familiar. I will try to get some information about the language. But I will need the holonet for that.

Dinner went well. As announced we had jelly for desert, and spyboy, I must remember his name! Sinar did not mind my company. I am not a danger anymore. So when I was clumsily reaching for the water and accidentally threw his fork to the floor, he just picked it up. And I had the precious moment I needed to put the stone-sweet into his jelly.

Of course, it was ridiculously obvious for a poisoning attempt. But it was just what he expected. I poured my water and offered him some. Instead he exchanged our glasses and I poured for myself again. We ate in silence, and Sinar kept glancing around nervously. Like that, he would not find the sweet, until it was too late.

"What is that?" I asked him when he started on his dessert.

Sinar stared at his jelly, his eyes turning to slits. Then he carefully put his plate down and poked its content with his spoon.

"Looks like a sweet," I went on. "Why didn't I get one, too?"

The look on Sinar's face was priceless. A mixture of incredulous disbelief and astonished annoyance.

"Stupid," he hissed. "That is not candy, that is to poison me!"

I fake surprise and immediately inspect my own jelly closely.

"There's nothing in mine." I confirm in the end. "What are you going to do?"

"I must pretend I ate it, otherwise they will force me." Sinar looked around furtively.

"What if you ate mine?" I suggest. "Then I give your back and it will seem that I didn't eat the dessert."

"That is a good idea," he agrees.

Quickly we swap our plates and he begins to eat with much ado. In the end he hands in empty plates and feels mighty relieved at having fooled his persecutors.

"Meet me tomorrow," he whispered at me as we leave the refectory.

I nod imperceptibly and we go separate way.

_I will get my parts now - this I know._


	14. Day 14

Day 14

I looked into the mirror today and did not shave my head. Now that I know it was the helmet I imagined, it does not make sense any longer. I had hair before, maybe growing it back will help me remember. Still the face staring back at me seems strange.

I went to meet Sinar after breakfast. He was sitting in his mess of broken electronic and tried to hammer an transponder into the outlet of a stripped down washing machine with a hydrospanner. When he saw me, he stopped and got up.

"Did anybody see you come?" he demands?

I shake my head.

He nods.

"Has there been another attempt on your life?"

Now he shakes his head. "Not yet, but I think they will try again." He points at the broken washing unit. "I'm working on an early warning system for poisonous gas, it is almost finished."

I take a long look at his construction. The barrel of the washing unit was stuffed with wires and electronic parts that were only partly interconnected. He had placed an old exhaust hood on the unit, cables were coming out of it at odd places, too.

"A good idea, but what about the meals?"

He shrugs and picks up a handful of circuit boards. "I must be careful."

I pick up an empty case for screws and a thin band of transparisteel, I argue with myself. It is not good to encourage Sinar's world view, but I need his help. And it could not become much worse than now for him, could it?

"If you have some sensors left, I could put something together," I finally say. "You would have to carry it in a pocket, but with a wristband, you should get the sensors close enough to your food to check it."

Sinar stares at me for a while. Then he nods. But instead of sensors, he gives me a colourful mix of capacitors, transistors and resistors. I take some thin wires and begin to string them together like a necklace, placing them in the case at the same time. I add an old energy cell and make sure a piece of wire looks out so I can connect it with the one leading to the wristband.

It's like playing. I wonder if I played games in my childhood, and which kind. Did I like to play Smugglers and CorSec or did I prefer toys and games inside? I can't remember. It is as if I had never played at all in my whole life.

I enjoy putting the fake poison recogniser together. And for an instant I can understand spyboy and his dark universe.

Finally, I close the case, check the connections of the wires and the clasp of the wristband. Sinar watches me, and I hold out the device.

Sinar turns the gadget over in his hands for a while. "You're good with your hands. Did you do this before?"

"I don't know. As I said, my memory is erased. But if I am hunted, I'm prepared. I found out that I am good with computers and weapons, too."

"Tell-tale signs," Sinar agrees. "What will you do next?"

I lower my voice and move a little closer to him. "I wanted to convert my pad to a transmitter/receiver for the holonet. Then I can search it for more information in secret. I have almost everything together, I need, too."

"If there is something you can use," Sinar said, indicating the mess in his room.

I looked around and soon had all the pieces together I would need. But all of Sinar's so called 'tools' were either broken or to coarse I couldn't borrow any of those. But I knew how I could get at the tools of the janitor, that would not be a problem.

After helping him put on his new poison sensor, I thanked Sinar and told him again to be careful. Then I eased open the door, looked around carefully and slipped out. I would wait until bed time to break into the janitor's closet. The security measures were not very strict. Another hint that this was indeed just a madhouse, not a disguised high security prison.

I have thought about being Mandalorian.

That would mean that I had worn armour, it would explain a lot.

It explains why my face always looked wrong to me. The helmet does a bad imitation of a face. I look at my picture and compare it to my face - the similarities are minimal. The size, the approximate shape, but you already need some fantasy to make the horizontal and vertical slits into eyes and nose. The helmet has no mouth, no ears, no cheekbones, no chin.

I wonder why I hide my face behind such a mask so much, that it seems to be more my real face than my flesh and bone features. I am not ugly or misshaped. Am I running? Hiding myself in plain view?

The armour also explains my wounds, or their absence. Mandalorian armour is harder than steel, it is made to endure. If I got caught in the explosion wearing my armour, it would have spent most of its energy on the armour. I must have been real close, to get hurt like this, almost on top of it.

But who had then taken my armour? I was not wearing it when I was found. Whoever it was, he had taken everything. Why?

Was it a trap that I had walked into? But who was I that somebody would want to be me? Or was I left for dead and the armour taken home by valiant friends? But why should they leave the body? A Mandalorain is more than his armour, is he not?

Maybe I was on my own, believed dead and my armour was taken to be sold. Would it sell?

So many questions - they make my head spin. I feel as if finding out I was Mandalorian raised more questions than it answered.

_But the man inside __the armour is me - this I know._


	15. Day 15

Day 15

My name is Boba Fett.

I recognised my picture the moment I saw it. That man in Mandalorian armour, that was me. Only that I seem to be alive and going on with business as usual, as well as sit here in this institution. It does not make sense.

I got my pad working as transmitter/receiver and last night. I was then to tired to try it immediately, but this morning I went into the holonet right after breakfast. It is vast and though most of it seems censored heavily by the government there are pockets of pure anarchy, too.

I looked at the official records first. It seems the Mando'ade did not get out of the Clone Wars well. They were conquered by the Empire and annexed. I think that means enslaved. Now they work for the Empire and the most notorious of them is Boba Fett - me.

I cannot believe it. And it is not as if everything about my life came back top me in a blazing moment of epiphany. I remembered my name, my profession, my ship. I do have a ship, as I told them - the _Slave I_, and the reason I didn't see her among the other vessels is so obvious: she is a prototype, only six of them have even been built. I modified her heavily, and I even know where I put her down on Coruscant.

But she is not there anymore. The holonet is full of articles about my latest exploits, the bounty heads I brought to the Empire or a Hutt called Jabba. The name is familiar, though I cannot fathom why I should do something like this. Too much of me is still missing. But somebody else is prowling the galaxy in my armour, under my name, with my ship.

Who?

Did he erase my memory on purpose, to usurp my position? Is he an old rival I have forgotten? I need more memories. So I will read more about the Mando'ade and about me. I will read until I know everything. I want my moment of enlightenment, when everything in my past is suddenly making sense.

What bothers me, is that I cannot tell the doctors. They would not believe - this I know. I must research in secrecy until I have proof. And I need to go to the place where I was found. I know I will remember what happened then. Now that I know who I am, my life can begin again.

They asked me about Sinar today.

I said I liked him.

They say I must not encourage his delusions. They have seen the manoeuvre with the jelly. That must not happen again. I am forbidden to talk to him about the Emperor and his plans to kill him. I am not to help him build his electronic devices. They will cut off all contact if I don't follow their orders.

I nod; I say I understand.

But I am sad. Sinar will not understand if I turn my back on him now. And I do not feel like doing it anyway. Maybe, I should just tell him that the doctors forbade me to help him. At least, that would make sense in his world. I don't like to leave him alone in his world, it's dreary enough as it is.

But then, I couldn't have stayed forever anyway, could I? Now that I know who I am, I have to move on. Get my memories back, get my life back. I couldn't have stayed.

I sigh. I wish I could help Sinar.


	16. Day 16

Day 16

I decided to tie up the loose ends of how I came here before looking further into the past. I need to be systematic or I might miss something important. It is strange how writing things down has become a fixed habit in the last two weeks. I know that now I wouldn't forget things, but it just doesn't feel right if I don't write it down.

And then there is that threat, that I might still forget the moment I remember all my past. I don't want to forget. Maybe I'm a bastard bounty hunter when I am me again, but right now, I don't want to. I want to keep this part of me. I am not sure I like Boba Fett.

I have broken into the records of the space port the Slave I had been in. It had taken off a few days after I had been found. Nothing out of the normal had been noticed: Boba Fett had brought the ship, and Boba Fett had left with it. You cannot see behind that mask. It must be really convenient for him

I wonder, why it was convenient for me. Was it a face I wore in public, so I could live in peace when I put it down? Did I want to be recognised only on my terms. Had I myself taken the armour like that from it's former owner, was there an unbroken line of Boba Fetts through history.

No. I read about history, he did not always exist. But the thought was intriguing. take an identity and drop out when you had enough.

Did I have enough?

But I decided to put that question up for later, when I remembered more about the circumstances of my last mission.

So my ship is gone. So are most likely all funds that were connected to it and my identity. Except for the secret ones, those that were only accounted in my head. One way or another, I was not poor. I could afford better treatment, I could - but could I?

What if my survival was just an unintentional oversight? Would somebody come after me, if I showed my face? Did anybody know my face? With a shock I realized that I didn't know if I had good friends out there, friends who would realize I was not me any longer.

I did not have a woman waiting for me somewhere.  
I did not have friends waiting for me out there.  
I was still nobody.

Of course, Boba Fett had friends, or at least colleagues, a fling here and there, but the private man, me, what about him? Who waited for the man without the mask?

I am again getting off track. If I do not concentrate, I will get sidetracked like this all the time. Yes, my life and past is a mess, so what? Spinning in mad circles will not help any. I must calm down. I must find my centre again.

I go to the gym and run until it is closed down. Still, it was not far enough.


	17. Day 17

Day 17

I stole a moment with Sinar, telling him the doctors had forbidden me to talk with him.  
He snorted and does not seem the least surprised.

"It was bound to happen sooner or later. It always happens." His face shows a mixture of bitterness and contempt.

"I'm sure that I can sneak reports to you every now and then, though," I assure him and feel a little guilty. Buying his goodwill like this just didn't feel right. But Sinar just nodded.

"It's better to pretend to be playing along. They can make your life hell, if you don't." His face clouds over and he turns away without another word.

I wonder about his last comment and promise myself to take a look into his files. I felt unusually protective of him suddenly and the idea that doctors had abused their position of power -

Now I was thinking like Sinar. It had probably just been a kind of therapy. I mustn't let myself get biased. Bias is - no, not wrong, but dangerous. If you don't see all facets of a situation, you are lost.

I broke into the hospital files and looked up Sinar. He has spent almost all his life here, from his eighteenth birthday on. He is now about thirty. I wonder if his family does not care for him. Is he as alone as me?

I find the time Sinar referred to. He had had fits of violence, he had been isolated, quarantined and the new ESTA therapy had been tried on him. The medication had had sever side effect, though and they had returned to their normal treatments. His file is long and sad. No change of his state had ever happened, except for that one time, and all hope was lost. He would stay here until he died.

I wondered who paid for him. I searched the records, I broke deeper into the system. there was his family. They paid. They asked for new therapies, they asked for hope.

There was none.

Sinar didn't take the gift out of suspicion, he didn't recognize his parents, accused them of being spies. And, being his parents, they were probably not strong enough to endure his world for long.

I looked up who paid for me, but there was nothing. A public line transferred a certain amount of credits to the institution every month to keep inhabitants that had no money. I was living on welfare.

I had money, but still I was living on welfare. I decided that I must activate one of the credit lines. But to do that, I must get out. And while I was out, I would go to the place I was found and find out what happened.

Today, they asked me about hobbies.  
I wonder what kind of hobbies a bounty hunter would have.

I said, I hunt.

Of course, they want to know how I know.

I explain. I am good with weapons, I know about weapons. But what use are they? I am not in the army, so I could use them in my job. So I must hunt.

What kind of animals, they want to know.

All, I say. I hunt them all.


	18. Day 18

Day 18

I read all I could find about the recent past of Boba Fett. There is no disruption in his past, no sign that at any time he suddenly acted strange. I wonder how many people there are in this galaxy that would have noticed small incongruences. I am not very social.

No, not even now, that I could be anything I want. I am still keeping to myself. I stare at the badly painted Boba Fett on my wall. I was hiding in there, consciously or unconsciously.

_I did not have much of a choice, did __I?  
_Probably not. I have been raised to be Boba Fett, notorious bounty hunter. It had not crossed my mind before to be somebody else. Which was probably a good sign, wasn't it? If I hadn't been happy with my life, I would have thought about quitting, wouldn't I?

_I like the hunt, I enjoy the challenge and excitement of it.  
_Man's a wolf unto man. And I am the wolf unto everybody.

My impostor had to be good. Living up to that mind frame required a radical attitude. Maybe he had really trained long to take my place. Again I start to wonder. What had happened? Had it been an accident, on purpose and if, whose purpose? I need to get out. I must watch the night nurses and guards. I must go back. I have to know!

I looked at the Mando'ade. They seem completely unfamiliar. I know nothing of their history, nothing about their wars, not even their Civil War. Jaster Mereel is a name faintly remembered. Probably the reason I chose Jasper as my first name. But there is more, I know it. her had a protégé, who is never named.

_But that name is important - this I know._

I searched the holonet up and down, small sites, revolutionary and forbidden pages, but his name is gone. Erased in the way the victors write their own history and blacken out everything they don't like. The establishment does not want talk about that protégé around.

So I read about Mando culture. The armour is important, no two sets are the same. The metal has been invented by the Mandos long ago and is said to be very light. That sounds about right to me. I know I have worn the armour, but I did not remember feeling weighed down by it. I want it back.

I can relate to the nomadic aspect of the Mando'ade. I feel the increasing restlessness as days go by and I get more and more pieces of my puzzle together. I know a day will come when I simply cannot stay any longer. Right now, the urge to move on is kept at bay by my lack of information and memories. But I know that even if I don't remember, I will move on.

I cannot relate to anything else. I have never been on Mandalore. I live only one of the Six Actions or Resol'Nare, namely wearing the armour. I speak neither Mando, nor do I defend any clan, I have no children to raise as Mando'ade, I have no clan to aide, I would not follow the call of the Mandalore.

I want a real family one day, when this nightmare is over, when I am myself again. Then I will tackle that task. Find a wife, raise children, maybe even to be Mandos. But hadn't I done that already? I think I did. But it had not lasted, had it. If it had, she'd be looking for me now.

_I'm not a family man.  
_But I want to be. I failed once, but that does not mean I do not deserve a second chance. I had been young then, too young and my wife, _Sintas, her name is Sintas,_ she was not much older. I wonder why I should have tried. With that urge to travel and the need to hunt, why would I marry aged sixteen?

_I wanted to be normal.  
_So I did not have a normal childhood, probably no candy for me. I sigh. But what had I expected, Boba Fett would not turn out to be an average guy, would he? He, I had no mother. I cannot remember if I ever heard her name. My father raised me, alone, taught me. Did he love me? I cannot remember tenderness, but the must have been some. There had to be.

I can remember lessons; writing, fighting, reckoning, keeping the score. I feel my fathers hands correcting my stance. The teacher I remembered, that was him too. The question - what do you do? - I do not know.

I think, I still want to be normal.


	19. Day19

Day 19

After failing spectacularly to connect with the Mando culture, I tried their language next. But again, nothing. I recognized a few bits, like _gev, nar'sheb, ke'mot, k'olar, cuy ogir'olar._ The language feels strange, when I say the words out loud. The sounds roll around in my mouth like stones. Have I ever spoken it?

_Nar'sheb!_

That is easiest - I don't think it is a good sign.

I am a man in Mado armour who does not speak their language, who does not know their culture, who can't remember adhering to any of the Resol'nare on which their society is founded. How can that be? If I am really Mando, I'm probably the worst there is. In a collection of proverbs, I found something that I can relate to, though.

_Kaysh meg miit'gaana, oyacyi - _Who writes, remains.

I have wondered, the doctors said I might forget now when I remember then. But I will not be forgotten. Boba Fett will still have these records. He cannot forget me.

_Don't believe, I won't try.  
_I will be your conscience, Boba, you just take care.

The night shift is a lousy lot at looking out. I tried to sneak away last night, and would have made it easily. I did not expect it, so I had no destination to go. I stood outside, inhaling the night air deeply. I know I live on ships and transports more than on the surface, and it felt good. For the first time since I began to remember I felt free and ready to go.

I decided to time my outbreak on a Saturday night. We were allowed to sleep long on Sundays, so nobody would be suspicious, if I did not get up until midday. So I could either catch up on my sleep, or gain a good head start. Of course, that depended on what I found.

This time I did not expect everything to come back to me in a flash. I would have to wrestle my memories out of their hiding places one by one, but if that was what it took, I would do it.

_Nobody escapes__ Boba Fett - this I know._

When I returned to my room, I sat down to do some more research. There is not that much I can look for left. I would have to trust in hunches for further information. Maybe I should look back and see, what worried the doctors most. that should be good clues to my old self. The language files seem to mock me.

But one thing struck me, when I leafed through the dictionaries for Mando.

_The Mando word for computer is solegot._


	20. Day 20

Day 20

They asked me about Mandalorians today.  
I said, I must be wrong. I looked at their culture and language, and I know nothing of it.

They seem relieved and I wrinkle my brow in feigned concentration. What else could I be instead? I decide to take a wild guess. After all, I might not be here anymore in two days.  
What if I was a pilot, or other worker with helmet, I suggest. There is an incredible lot of uniforms with helmets to chose from. To find the answer there, would take time. I need that time.

They concede that I have a point. Fire fighters all over the galaxy wear different outfits including helmets and to search through those alone might take forever. I saw the reluctance in their eyes, they did not want to do that search. Another advantage for me. And I readily give up my hour in the holonet to do the search right there under their eyes. I don't have to lie about not recognizing anything though.

Before they leave, I ask them, could I talk to a fire fighter? Maybe, if I talked about my old job, if that's what it was, I will remember.  
They say, they will consider. They are not happy about it.  
Very good, let them consider. By the time they reach a decision, I will be gone.

On the way to the gym, I saw Sinar and we exchanged meaningful glances. He was wearing a sieve on his head, cables and bits of wire protruded from it. I wonder how he managed to nick it from the kitchen and how big his tantrum will be, when the nurses take it away again.

I keep the schedule I had before I found out who I am. I do not want to raise any suspicions. And the time I spend in the gym is well spent. I changed the exercises a little so they would fit my needs better. Now I know I need run and fight soon. I need the strength to overpower an armed man, I need the reflexes to duck a blaster bolt. It is nice to have a purpose for a change.

_My purpose is to hunt.  
_But that is a short-lived purpose which suffices only for one hunt at a time. I need more now.

I look what other people make their sense in life. It is, again, inconclusive. I do not want to spend my life serving a god, the greater good or even the lesser evil. It would not be satisfying. The hoarding of money or power does not sound any better.

I want to feel complete.  
I want to feel that I am doing the right thing.  
I want to feel that my contribution to life does have a meaning, that it makes a difference.  
How can I achieve any of this being a bounty hunter?

_I _am_ making a difference.  
_No, not really. I might have had an influence, maybe delivering one bounty head or other tipped the scales, but for whom. A bounty hunter does not decide whom to hunt, he hunts everybody. If I ever made a contribution, it was by accident.

I spent the evening with a new report for Sinar. Since I don't know about his latest fears, I improvised, hinted at reduced activity due to a possible mole in the system. I told him of plans so convoluted that only his mind would be able to make any sense from it. Everybody else would just dismiss it as mumbo-jumbo. Assassins from the Emperor prowling his palace in the guise of dancers, mistresses and even royal guards, his secret service infiltrating the health system with nurses and specially secretaries trained to seek and destroy as well, the stuff was not credible.

And because I couldn't resist to try for hope, I wrote of a small group of secretive dissenters that were working against the Emperor, trying to stop him, and especially his quest to terminate Sinar. The hopeless romantic in me insisted on adding a princess. I hope it helps him to find a way out, but I doubt it. Unless, indeed a princess comes to his rescue with a bunch of heroes, he will stay here until the Emperor dies.

Until the Emperor dies - that opens unexpected possibilities….


	21. Day 21

Day 21

Since this might be my last day in here, I decided to spend some time making preparations. But first I had to get the new 'report' to Sinar. It was not easy to find a time at breakfast when the nurses were distracted long enough to hand the datacard to Sinar with lots of inconspicuous decorum. I didn't want the others to realize what I was doing and being conspicuous to Sinar, while not being noticed at all by all others was not easy.

In the end I managed to let if fall under the table while the nurses had to catch Landed who had rolled away to attack some imaginary Jedi. He might have gotten away with it, too, if he hadn't taken his bowl along to deflect the new and deadly death-rays.  
I nodded to Sinar and he signalled back. I just hoped that he believed it. Given time and chance, I might just try to scrounge up a princess and some heroes and see if it will get him out of his nightmare.

I took the time to plan several routes from the institution to the place I was found. Since I had a lot of time, I took into consideration that I might not want to be seen. And that I might want to stop by a bank and a clothes shop first. In here it doesn't matter that I'm wearing the creamy white slacks and shirt of the institution, but ion the outside world it might draw attention. And if there is one thing I don't want, it is to draw attention.

I preordered dark coloured clothes which I would collect before moving on and a some cash in an access box at the nearest bank. I also activated a secure credit line and had a look at the ship market, the less legal one. In case of need, I could get a ship within the hour.

Then it was time for my guarded hour in the holonet. I took some pains to look at uniforms of all kinds, fire fighters mainly, but a few deep miners and space miners, too. The doctors watched me and became more and more bored, while I made my way though the huge amount of data.

I did not get anywhere, of course. But it did not matter. I took care to express the right mixture of disappointment and optimism before I went to get some more exercise. Working out calms me no end. And even though I don't like to admit it, I am a little nervous. Nervous of what I will find. Nervous that it will not go well with who I am.

I went to bed early, packing my things in the dark room and setting my pad to wake me in the small hours. But it is difficult to find sleep. What if tomorrow I am not the man I am now? What if I gave up the hunt? _Dream on, Lancer-boy._ What if I didn't give it up?

Who am I?

_I will get you, impostor! This I know._


	22. Day 22

Day 22

Everything had gone as planned, me sneaking from the property, my money was ready and so were civilian clothes. they felt strange and I know I did not wear them often. _I miss my armour. _But at least they were dark and I made my way almost unseen and without raising any notice. I had to look around a little from the place I was found. I seems I crept there from the actually place of the explosion.

When I came into the small alley, I recognised it immediately. And I remembered why I had been here, I was, of course, hunting. Not that the job had sounded difficult, the bounty head was just a bank clerk, female, 22 years old. Whatever she had done, it had gotten her the enmity of Black Sun and they had put quite some money on her head. Easy money, as I had thought.

I had been waiting here, for her to come out of the bank, it was a small, but very well guarded building. The Coruscant Ledger Bank had only few customers, but still wielded a huge amount of the galaxy's legal money. I didn't want more fuss that necessary, and since she lived with he fiancé, I decided that taking her after work would be easiest. Even now, it still made sense.

But something had gone wrong. A member of Black Sun had entered the building, shooting ensued and my prey had suddenly charged out of a side door. All signs indicated a blind panic, the reading of her pulse and heart-rate backed up the impression. And she was running directly into my arms. All I had to do was wait until she reached my position, step out of the shadows and grab her.

Again a door banged shut, and I heard a man laugh. When I stepped into the alley, I saw him throwing a high level shock grenade after her. And just as I grabbed her and dragged her out of the immediate blast region - everything went dark.

It must have gotten us. Both of us, and I was guarding her with my body. There is always a higher bounty on a living prey. But manoeuvring her behind me must have cost me those precious milliseconds to get out of the way of the main force of the blast. And betting on survival was not a sure thing, not even with my armour on.

She must have survived, though. Survived and left me for dead. Or left me anyway. Taking my armour was a logical choice, considering that the other was facing down Black Sun. I know, I would have taken it. And so has she.

The man in my armour, the impostor, is a girl - a mere girl!

I still cannot believe it and there is a part of me that is seething. I returned to the mad house, but I do not think there is a great difference between inside and outside anymore. When a girl is roaming the galaxy being Boba Fett - and with success, too -

I bury my head in my hands.

_I want revenge.  
_But how can I take revenge, if she thought I was dead.  
_You do not know that. For all you know, she could have given you the final bowl before taking the armour.  
_You're such a negative person.  
_You're a dreamer._

One thing I know, now. I cannot return to my old identity immediately. If she had bungled it, yes, if she had failed, yes. But she had not. According to all sources, she had done a favourable job being me.

_But still -_

Yes, but still -


	23. Day 23

Day 23 

I have not slept much this night. My thoughts were spinning and I was trying to find a way to take back my identity. I should not have thought so much. Of course, I'll take it the way I lost it. I will go out, get a life, and her attention.  
No, I will get the attention of Boba Fett. I am not quite sure how to go about that. Certainly, I do not want to end up as a bounty head. And, as things stand, 'Fett' will not be keen on making friends. Which leaves only one thing - I must endanger her integrity, her secret. But to do so, I must get out there again, first.

_I will hunt again.  
_Yes, I will. The easiest way to meet a bounty hunter is to _be_ a bounty hunter. And I know how to be one. First today, I got myself a new ship. A Lamda-class T-4a shuttle. It was cheap because flying around in stolen Imperial vehicles can get you into a lot of trouble, and because you probably had to push that one if you wanted to move it.

I cannot name her _SlaveII_, though, that would be much too obvious. But she needs a name - names are important.  
Her - she.  
I have never wondered why we talk of our ships as female. But if I had had a woman waiting for me, it would have been the _SlaveI_. Maybe it is making sense now.

But a ship alone is not enough. I had her taken to a space port nearby, officially, and even informed the Imperials. They wouldn't want it back, most likely. For them getting a new one would be much cheaper, and I had first class material to work with. And legal, too. I intended to start her up right. After all, she would have to be outstanding, special, eye-catching, causing a lot of talk. And she would have to be able to rival my old ship.

Foxcatch, _because I'll catch the one who foxed me.  
_It's a good name. And I already know the right place to get it overhauled. With enough credits, there are places where you can get everything, and there is the one place everything is coming through. Nar Shaddaa. I won't even need a name there. I can get in touch with the underworld and hopefully take a convenient new identity. And, of course, I would find my first hunting assignment there. On Nar Shaddaa, somebody was always wanted.

Today they asked me about hate. Since I could not remember love, maybe I could remember hate. It is a strong feeling, after all.

But I tell them, I do not hate. Hate clouds your vision, hate clouds your judgment. The man who hates, is the man that will make mistakes. and the man who makes mistakes, is a dead man.

They do not like the notion. I can see it in their eyes, they consider it too radical.  
I look them straight into the eye.

"But I am an uncompromising person," I tell them.

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**Author Comment:** For those interested, I added links to the Cover Art of this in my profile. If anybody tells me how to do pics, I'll do that. :)


	24. Day 24

Day 24

I woke up thinking about Darth Vader.  
We had our run ins and disputes, and being a Sith Lord, he must have known. He must have felt that it was no longer me inside that armour. Why had he not said anything? Did he not care, as long as the missions were executed to his satisfaction?

I could not help but wonder, what he might think about the sudden change. Did he consider it an irony? Did he consider it at all?  
It bothered me that even the on person _(person?)_ who knew about the change had kept silent. I was really nobody without my armour. It annoyed me.

But it also showed me a reasonable way to go. I would hide behind body armour and a mask again. I would melt in and out of events as I pleased. I would be a shadow of myself. And like a shadow I would be unshakeable.

The officials have told me that the shuttle had arrived an been cleared by the Imperial authorities. I paid the landing pad for a week in advance. Then I ordered a service team to clean her and put her into a hyperspaceable state - until this afternoon. Money can buy everything.

So I will leave tonight. It is a strange thought, but it feels good to know I will soon be myself again. Even if hidden. I feel strangely loth to leave Sinar, though. I cannot remember feeling that attached to somebody for a long time. But I tell myself, that he will be alright here. he will be protected, fed and taken care off. In times to be, when I am myself again, I will do something about him. If ever.

I could not help myself, I had to visit him. He stood in the middle of his usual chaos, hands grimy with oil and other fluids, but his eyes shining as if he had just discovered the Kaiburr crystal. In his mind, he probably had.

"I will leave tonight."

He glanced at me, then puts his tools down carefully and steps over the rubble towards me. "Did you find out who did this to you?" he asked.

I nodded.

"And you are sure, you have taken all precautions, so they won't see you coming for them?"

_Our minds were working much alike,_ I thought. He didn't doubt I was out for revenge. I let a predatory smile creep over my mouth. "I don't intend to show my face until it is too late - for them."

This time it is Sinar who nodded, obviously agreeing with my plan, even if he didn't know the details. I was tempted to ask him to come along but there was no chance of that. Firstly, he would not want to leave the safety of his own realm, and secondly, he would only be in my way.

"I'll contact you," I simply said instead.

Again he nodded, then something seemed to strike him and he began to search a pile of loose electronics. Without showing me what it was, he put a small device into my hand and closed my fingers over it.

"You might need it, They are crafty." He gave me a last knowing glance and returned his attention to his playground.

I left.

It was a strange parting. But I feel better now, sitting here and having said farewell. Too many people simply vanish from one's life and you never get to say those words. They might mean nothing to the one you leave, but they are a marker. A beacon you can place in your history.

I open my hand to see what it was, that Sinar wanted me to have, but I cannot make anything of it. It's a small dark grey cylinder, rounded at on end and oddly rough at the other. A strange, intertwined symbol is carved on one side, the lines carefully painted with black varnish. I have never seen anything like it before.

I put it into a pocket that closed fast and began my wait. I will take nothing with me but the clothes I wear and this pad. Everything else I'd need would await me on the _Foxcatch_.

Time trickles by endlessly slow.  
I think, I hate waiting.  
But now, it is finally time to leave.


	25. Day 26

Day 26

I skipped a day. It is the first time since I started this journal and it feels - strange. as if there was a hole in my memory now, as if I had lost something. But it was not much. I left the mad house silently and unseen. Nobody stopped me on the way to the space port and when I arrived, I encountered no trouble claiming my ship and a clearing for take-off.

_It was laughably easy.  
_I didn't laugh. I concentrated. I couldn't remember flying an Imperial Shuttle before, but the controls seemed vaguely familiar. The take-off went without interruption and the felling when I smoothly lifted the _Foxcatch_ from the duracrete and guided her into the sky was exhilarating.

_Freedom!  
_Yes, freedom. Do I still wish it was the freedom to do just anything? I could still settle down. I could still take up farming, ranching or even just living. I have enough money to decently live off for the rest of my life.

_Freedom!  
__I need to get to Kees. I need to get her out of that predicament she's in.  
__Laughable!  
__I can easily take my life back. She can have hers.  
__Freedom is my old life back.  
__Freedom is - _

- and then the stars elongated into lines and suddenly the mottled blue patterns of hyperspace whirled around me. I had missed them, I really had. They were comfortingly familiar. For a while I simply watched and there was no conflict.

I went through my exercises, showered and went to sleep. It felt strange to have a bed to call your own. And though it was a bunk like I was used to, it was strange. this was not my bunk, not my ship and the whine of the engines sounded foreign. Still, I fell asleep easily.

No blaring alarms woke me, no emergency calls, just the soft beep of the alarm clock. The engines were still strange, but what did I expect after year upon years on the same ship. The sound begins to hum in your own bones. being alone felt strange, too. After spending two weeks with constant company, having breakfast on my own was - lonely.

_I miss Sinar.  
__I am a fool.  
__I eat alone.  
__I am alone  
__I am a lonely fool._

It took a conscious effort to break those thoughts. I was neither a fool nor did I mind being alone. I have always been alone. Predators hunt alone, scavengers come in packs.

_Wolf unto man, lonely wolf, unto man._

I took a cold shower and began to work on the shuttle. There were enough changes I could make on my own before I reached Nar Shaddaa, no use in wasting it all with useless musings.

So here I am now, about to set foot onto one of the worst planets around. And I am not afraid, actually, I know I will do well. I have been here before, had my ship repaired and upgraded. I know what to do.


	26. Day 29

Day 29

Nar Shaddaa is a source of inspiration. Conversions no Imperial, or any sane technician, would have thought about are bounce off every shop here. Step one will be to severely shorten the wings of the _Foxcatch_ so she will win a lot of manoeuvrability. Those shuttles move like tranquilized banthas. Or maybe I'm just spoilt from the _SlaveI_.

It is funny, the more I worked on the _Foxcatch_, the more I realized just how well I know the _Slave_. I remembered all her little secrets, the adjustments, enhancements and the million small changes that turned it from a rare prototype into a completely unique vessel. She had more firepower and velocity stashed away than anybody would ever know because I was to sly to have to push her to the limits. The _Slave_ would always be an unknown for my rivals.

It has taken the last three day to have shortened all wings of the shuttle. It will be much easier to manoeuvre. Since it has not been done before, again that will be a big unknown for my competitors. I like to have my adversaries unbalanced.

Sometimes during work, I closed my eyes just to see the Slave. It is strange that I should remember her through working on a different ship, but I already found out that my memory is not the most reliable thing around. I close my eyes and see where I used to live. No wonder I could not remember a flat on Cosruscant.

All the upgrading had slowly eaten into what had once been the living are of the _SlaveI_. I didn't mind the close quarters, I did not own much. I did not _need_ much. When all you ever need can be packed into a few compartments, your freedom is boundless. Wherever I may roam, wherever I might go, I always had my home with me.

I don't think the _Foxcatch_ will ever be that kind of home to me. And I don't intend to keep it long enough, either. The colouring of the bulkheads feels all wrong, as does the partitioning, and the huge double bed the previous owner had moved in for whatever reasons. But there is no time for changing unimportant details like that. I have already lost more time than I wanted. And the overhaul has only just begun.

It hit me when I was coring the middle wing to make space for some extras. The _SlaveI_ had not always been my ship. She had belonged to my father.  
_My father.  
_I could suddenly see him clearly, as if looking into a mirror.  
But then, I _am_ the mirror. The exact copy of my father, an unaltered clone of him.  
As if being a reflection.  
_Reflecting - I have done a lot of that lately._

_Jango Fett.  
_He was the missing name in the files, deleted because of his close relationship to the clones. Because, he was the clones, or they were all him. More or less. I wonder how it must have felt to have an army of millions flooding the galaxy who are all you in a way. Altered and remodelled to be soldiers only, but still you. Somehow.

I wonder how it feels to have so many of them still around, images of myself, a little warped, toned down. I have no answer.

_He was the teacher.  
_Yes, the teacher, I remember. All teachers, I remember.  
The riddle.  
_Yes, the riddle.  
_And the correct answer is: Why?


	27. Day 30

Day 30

I am myself.  
I am my father.  
I am a million clones.  
I am Jasper Lancer, Jango Fett, Boba Fett.  
I am an army of clones.

Maybe I should commit myself back into the lunatic asylum with personality issues like that.

_The clones are not me.  
_No, they are not. they look like me, each and every one, my features multiplied. But they are not me. They are genetically engineered soldiers, created to be an army, not a person. They do not have what it takes to make me a person. They do not need it. I am not a good soldier, I do not like orders, I think for myself, I plan for myself and I always work alone. No, I am not a good soldier.

But they are. All that has been taken away from them. Do they miss it? Do they know something has been taken from them? Stolen?

_Never call attention to yourself.  
_Now that is something they most likely still posses. As useful trait in a soldier. Still, I wonder how much the word 'yourself' does mean to them at all.

At least, the wings are finished now. So I can begin to upgrade them with whatever weapons and gadgets fit in. It looks irritating, a little like a plucked bird with half the feathers still on. It looks crippled.

The _Slave_ never looked like a flightless bird. Battered – yes, burnt and dented - yes, even torn and trampled, but never flightless.

The obvious weaponry did not improve the image any. Like the stumps of feathers the twelve cannons protrude from the wings. The more secretive weapons don't show at all. Of course. Where'd be the sense in secret weapons everyone can see. I consider mounting additional engines on the wings and hull, there is much you can hide behind an engine. _They will look like ulcers on it. This will not be a pretty ship_.

In the dealing with the other inhabitants of this moon I have little problems. they talk as little as me and credits convince them faster than words anyway. After trying my first evening meal in a cantina, I quickly decided to get my own provisions and rather cook than surround myself with that unnecessary filth and noise. Besides the food was of low quality.

_I could have gone into a distinguished restaurant.  
_No, not really. Not because I couldn't afford it, or would have had problems to melt in. Melting out again, that would have been the problem. And the last thing I want is to draw attention. Now that I have my freedom, I'd like to keep it.

_Even if somebody recognized me, I can always claim to be a clone.  
_Yeah, sure and then get busted for deserting. Shut up, Lancer.  
I can't believe I'm talking to myself. Back to the asylum with me.  
_Everybody is talking to themselves_.  
No.  
_Everybody is talking to themselves. Of course they don't tell. They don't want to be seen as madmen.  
_Only a madman can think like that.  
_Look around and tell me the galaxy is not run by madmen._


	28. Day 37

Day 37

I have lost another whole week on that lump of durasteel and wires. And still it is not as good as could be. There are many things I would like to add before I take off, but it will all have to wait. An opportunity offered itself that I cannot refuse. An opportunity for an identity, the perfect disguise. And I a plan is beginning to form, a way to get back my identity without anybody ever noticing.

At least the four engines are all mounted on the ship and connected. To stop it, you'd have to blow the _Foxcatch_ completely apart now. The most important systems also have several back ups, emergency routes and the moment I come back a top of the line navcomp processor will be waiting for me. Probably stolen from one of the new Imperial developments.

And Force knows the _Foxcatch_ needs it. After seven days of intimate work on the ship, I know it will never be able to rival my _SlaveI_. The design does not allow it, no matter what I did to the shuttle. If I chose another kind of ship, though.  
_No, nothing to be done about that. I must get going._

Yes, I decided on my fist bounty. This will be easy, just an escaped member of Black Sun. Those are always easy to find. The trick is to think like your prey. And criminal minds are easy to understand, easy to follow, easy to trick.

I would not have bothered with it before, but now - now it was just the right thing to get myself back into business. I have been warned, that there was already a bounty hunter after Sigur Ransdale, and that I should not bother. _Don't mess with the Mando-wannabe'_ I have been told. If they only knew.

Sigur Ransdale is not my target. But Kast will not suspect that. When I approach him before he has the bounty head, who will I be? _Nobody_. And after taking his armour and bounty head, who will I be? Him.  
And as planned Jodo Kast will bring his bounty to Black Sun.

_I have__ avoided Black Sun, I do not like them.  
_Should it surprise me that I had some morals before I lost my memory?  
_No.  
_From what I read about myself, I do not, though. Ruthless. Cunning. Merciless.  
Wolf. Hunter. Predator.

When this is through, I will have my new identity. The newcomer who dared to bother Jodo Kast will be dead and forgotten. _Learn from those who beat you._ I did. And what Lorna Kees can do, I can do for sure.  
_One more personality issue to deal with.  
_No, I know who I am. Not Lancer, not an army of clones, not Jango.

I am not Jango Fett for he is dead and I am not.  
I would be him, if I had lived his life.  
I am who he would be if he had lived my life.  
He did not.  
I did.  
Our genetic sameness does not matter when our surroundings shape us.

_I am, who I am._


	29. One Month Later

One Month later

I am a bounty hunter again. I have taken life, I have sold life to certain death and it is just the way of things. This is what it feels like, to be a bounty hunter. It is not as bad as I feared. _It is not bad at all._

I have to take more care with the bounties I accept, though. Black Sun always has work, but often the bounty heads are usually of their own ranks, and of low profile.

They are easy to get. It is easy for me to think like them. It is easy money. And clean enough, too. Who worked for a criminal organisation like that cannot expect mercy. Not from me anyway.

But it is difficult to get my name out with missions like that. Nobody is interested in just another minion of Xizor, just another hound. I must not forget my goal. I must not become content just to be a bounty hunter again. I want to be myself again - truly myself.

I have to hand it to Kees, though. She is doing a good job of choosing her bounties, big names, big money and ethically whitewashed. She's killing as quick and clean as I used to. She is still Vader's right-hand man. Well, woman, actually.

I wonder how she deals with him. Even if you are on _his_ side, he can be really intimidating. Take that rasping breath alone. More machine than man, and after spending hours in his company, you are more than inclined to believe it. It grows on you, that breath, grates on the nerves, tears at the self-control.

Being able to hide behind a mask yourself is a great help. I am sure all stormtroopers agree.  
_I should be proud of her, a little admiration, or ever respect would do no harm._  
I would, if she wasn't me; if _I_ wasn't me.  
As long as we try to be the same person, I will not regard her. But she is doing my job well.

I have not felt the time while I was hunting.

Only when I returned to the _Foxcatch_ tonight, I remembered, suddenly, the flow of time. I stopped and just looked at it for a while, and then I looked at the starts spread out above it. Like a multitude of scattered pearls on a black cloth, like a God's broken necklace nobody found the time to repair.

I remembered my father doing that. Not often, but always on cold nights when the sky was clear. I remember sneaking out, hiding in the doorframe, behind a stack of boxes, behind the _SlaveI_, and watching. I did not know what he was doing, was too young to understand, but the mood was always solemn and I felt it was important.

Just being outside, feeling the cold and looking at the stars. It was the first time the beauty of the night sky hit me. Such an abundance, squandered upon races upon race who never lift their heads so high, who never really appreciate.

Now I think, he was remembering. I will never know what, or why, but as I stood outside the _Foxcatch_ tonight, I just knew it. Remembering. The days gone by, the times to come, people you knew, people you left, hurt or helped.

I wish I knew who he remembered and why. I whish I knew more about his life, that he had left me more than just genes. Without family we are nothing but severed heads, cut off and without destination. Somebody said that once, though I'm sure I mangled the quote.  
_I don't want to be a __severed head._

I felt much like my father tonight. Standing there, thinking of him.  
I know why I tried to raise a family. Maybe I know why he tried.  
And maybe he was more successful than he, and I, thought.


	30. On Day Later

One Day Later

I had nightmares. Almost unbelievable, the most notorious bounty hunter in the galaxy, if only in disguise, is having nightmares. In the morning I did the unusual thing, sitting down with stim caf in the still strange sitting area of the _Foxcatch_, taking my time, not rushing headfirst into the day. There was something I had to sort out first, something that was able to give me nightmares.

It was that quote. _Severed heads.  
_I have seen many of those, real and metaphorical, why should I bother?  
_Because of him._  
Yes. Him.

The thin metal of my cup gave in under the pressure and hot caf runs over my hand. I don't feel it. The scene that has set itself to repeat in my head takes all my attention. I wish it would stop. But it does not. There is sand, an arena, unimportant. As are the others who are fighting, unimportant. The focus is on a tall dark skinned man wielding a lightsaber. The focus is on my father.

My father was good at killing Jedi, with his bare hands if necessary. I watch, I want to learn. One day, it will be me standing there, fighting the Jedi. This I know.  
But I have not learned much form that fight. It is but a blur, a blur that suddenly ends with the head of my father flying away.

I am stunned now, maybe as I was then. I cannot believe it.

I remember my nightmares, running through endless wastes of sand, blood-coloured sand, trying to find something. Hastening through an arena full of fighting people, but they cannot see me. I wind my way through them searching, always searching. And when I found it, the helmet, I am looking for my father's helmet, it is always out of reach. The fighters don't see it, they kick it around, they keep it out of my grasp and I must go on, follow, try to reach -

It is just a nightmare. It never happened.  
_It is what you fear._  
That it is. But I had my father's helmet, still have it. Probably, it's aboard the _SlaveI_. And I swear that I will kill Kees if she touched it.

The only positive thing about this, or maybe not?, is that the Jedi are now extinct. I can not be tempted to go on a personal vendetta. And I had my try at the black Jedi. _Mace Windu_. I didn't get him, but he's dead.

Let the past be gone. I cannot help it now.  
_Learn from it!_  
I might have. I am called the right hand man of Vader. He killed the Jedi. The enemy of my enemy…  
_Let the past be_.

I wonder if all memories are good. This one surely hurts.  
I wanted them back, all of them, but now I hope there are not many of this kind among them. Seeing your own father die is nothing that should happen to a child. Any child.  
_Memories make us what we are._  
And look at what I am.  
_I see._  
I'm not sure if I do. I like being a bounty hunter. You take justice into your hands with this. But do I like the idea of justice needing this kind of help? I like the independence, the freedom.  
_No bounds, no bonds._  
Nobody waiting for you to return. Nobody waiting for you at all.

I look at the bent mess in my hand.  
I will need a new cup.

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This update is brought to you inspired by a comment from Gingercake. Thanks again. :)


	31. Much later

Much later  


Who would have thought it. The impersonator gets impersonated again. I can laugh about the ironies of life. I cannot remember laughing much before. But now - I sit in this tiny cell and laugh. What a life!  
It had started innocently enough. A call from an Imperial Start Destroyer, a mission, a bounty. _I should never have set foot onto the Admonitor._  
Spoilsport, this is fun. So instead of going on a bounty hunt, I get this interesting offer: to sit out a few days in a 'guest quarter' of the Admonitor and lend out my identity.  
_My_ identity.  
It's so laughable.

But it seems that somebody in the Empire is keen on borrowing Kast's identity and probably the ties to Black Sun. Yes, I had to tie myself to Black Sun.  
They pay well, and they grant me a first pick on a new bounty. This way I can make sure that the day they have somebody worthy to hunt, I will get to know first. Once first, I need not fear any other hunter. I might just get the attention of Kees that way, if no better opportunity offers itself.

And this might just be the opportunity I had been waiting for, only that I didn't even need to work myself. The Empire of all organisations is doing my work for a change. And what's more interesting, the only alien in the Empire I have ever seen to hold a rank.

Even before I arrived at the _Admonitor_, I had been advised to prepare to be entered. Not standard procedure, but by then it was too late to object. Even with the _SlaveI_, I would not have been able to escape the tractor beam guiding me into the hangar. So I prepared to meet my the Imperial visitors. The group was small and it soon it was clear that there was a game played here that had little to do with common Imperial practice.

The leader sent his squad to stand guard after the _Foxcatch_ had been superficially searched. It must have been a strange sight, two men, covered completely in body armour, trying to measure the other through the layers of metal and duraplas.

"I heard, you have a bounty to offer," I stated.

"There is more to the deal than that, but first I must make sure that nothing said in here ever gets out." He seemed to wait for something and suddenly a rain of static was all my helmet gave off. He nodded appreciating. "Now we ca talk."

To my surprise he took of his helmet, and even more surprising, the head appearing under it was not human. Humanoid, for sure, but with blue skin and glowing red eyes, only a fool would have taken him for human.

"Very well," I agreed, and mirrored his movement.

I remember that the Admiral gave me a really strange look when I removed my helmet. But his thoughts stayed unreadable as ever. He was wearing his face as efficient as I wore the Mandalorian helmet. Maybe he wondered if I was a clone, though I don't know how many of them were still around. Maybe he was considering real arrest for deserting the army, which, being a clone, I had had to have done years ago. Still, he did nothing.

"Grand Admiral Thrawn," he introduced himself simply, and I felt my brow climb involuntarily. Admiral was a high rank for an alien in the Empire. If he had managed to get this far, he must have some extraordinary talents. I was prepared to listen.

"Jodo Kast," I replied, but refrained from holding out my hand. We were too much like two predators, circling each other for gestures like that. And I knew that he regarded my claim with as much second thoughts as I did his. "So what about the job?"

"You will stay aboard the _Admonitor_ for as long as it takes me to accomplish something in your guise. Since there is no money in my mission, you will be compensated with ten thousand credits, and the credit for the mission. Of course, you will never mention the Empire or me after this." His tone was cold, but matter of fact. I did not believe that 'no' qualified for an answer.

"What if you do not succeed?" I wanted to know. "I want the guarantee that the Empire will set me up with a new identity and resources to start up my business again, in that case,"

The alien commander just raised a brow. "In the very unlikely case of my failure, you will be granted that. In return you will terminate those who were cause of the failure."

"Agreed."

"For expenses only."

"In which case I'd like to know what you're going to do."

We locked eyes for a moment, appreciating an opponent that did not back down. He nodded microscopically. "I will terminate Zekka Thyne."

Now that was quite a task he had set for himself. But my ties to Black Sun would open a few doors for him and he looked like a man who didn't go to work without a good plan and one or two equally good back-ups. And if he managed, my name would be out across the galaxy more effective than using the holonet. All in all it was not too bad for a bargain I did not have any choice or say in.

"Very well. I will get you a spare jumpsuit and take off my armour."

I went to change, still considering all implications and possibilities of this. But if the Empire wanted me dead, they could have killed me several times over and still gotten a useable set of armour and my name. I had to hold on to that thought. _If they wanted me dead, I'd be dead already._

I gave the grand Admiral a short introduction to some special features of the _Foxcatch_ he might find useful. But we both knew, I was keeping back as much as I told. Then the plan demanded that I was taken aboard the _Admonitor_ as a prisoner. The official story being that I was the current captive of Kast and the Empire would keep me until the bounty hunter returned. The story was not perfect and I only got standard Imperial prisoner treatment, that I could live with. The really obnoxious part was being doomed to idleness.

But if I judge Thrawn correctly, he will be back soon enough. Strange, but I don't think I would have willingly lent my real identity. And once I have it back, you would have to wrestle it from my cold hands. _Again. _But this time, I'd have to be dead for real.


	32. A Day Later

A day later

What can I say, he did it. The rumours that reach me are intriguing and range from Jodo Kast storming the stronghold all on his own and killing Zekka Thyne in front of his court to him sending first CorSec and then a garrison of stormtoopers in, before calmly strolling through the fighting and shooting Thyne. I'm sure the truth lies somewhere between, but I'll never know. When I asked him what I was to tell those who wanted details, the Grand Admiral's answer was "to shut up." I'm good at that, I'll live.

I never told anybody much about my work anyway. Never talked much at all. Maybe that is one of the reasons I am not missed much, my contact was always restricted to work. And Kees if following that route, maybe not because she wants to, but for fear. Exposing herself as little to others to entice no suspicion.

How does she handle the loneliness, I wonder. Research showed, she had never been really alone in all her life. Her back story is full of friends, colleagues and acquaintances. What would she say if she knew I delivered Sigur Ransdale, partner of her deceiver, to certain death? Why would I care?

It worries me a little that I cannot blank her out of my thoughts. Trained to be a hunter and killer, I should be able to control every aspect of my self, body _and_ thought. It was easier when I did not think so much, at least, not so much out of the line. Philosophical musings and wondering about the sense of it all is rather new. I must have done so once, but reaching a decision is where the thinking had stopped. I had found my way and that was all that mattered.

_I was all that mattered._I was indeed. Me and the bounty I was after, me and the profit. No attachments, just as I had been taught. And what I have been living. Not that I had much chance to latch onto somebody. Before most children begin to separate from their parents, I had been alone already. _I was separating limbs and heads at that age already._

_And keen on taking revenge on the Jedi that killed my father.  
__And trying to take his legacy as the galaxy's best bounty hunter.  
__And determined to never make the same mistake.  
__And old enough to decide about the rest of my life?  
__There was no decision, there was Jango._

The bounty hunter is free of attachments.  
_I am. I have leared that lesson well.  
_Too well. As if I was one of those sithspawned Jedi.  
_Their credo, Jango's credo, my credo.  
__Did it do either of us any good?_


	33. Some Time Later

Some time later

Finally the bounties are covering my expenses again. Until now I had used credits from accounts Kees has no access to. She doesn't know half of it. Nobody seems to wonder where an upstart like Kast has money and experience from to work the way I do. I would has suspected him to be a bought man on a undercover mission, but suspicion seems to be on retreat. Or maybe it just more noticeable to me.

_Suspicion was never what it should have been.  
_And I am grateful for it. What would have happened, if the Bounty Hunter's Guild had been more suspicious those years back? It was bad enough with Bossk. I wonder if he is still trying to kill me. And what Kees is doing about him. And though I would just like to see the expression on Bossk's face when he killed her and found out it was a woman, implying he had been fooled for years by a woman, I do not want him to trumpet the fact into the galaxy. Would he? Would his wounded pride allow it? Or would his desire to humiliate me get the better of him? And what would people think? Provided they cared at all?

But until lately nobody has as much as given me a second glance. Just another bounty hunter. The kill of Zekka Thyne started an avalanche of requests and I can't complain about the height of the bounties. The mystery around the events only fuels the demand. Even Black Sun did not turn it's back on me. Of course, they had not been happy about 'my' actions concerning Zekka Thyne, but even Xizor knows that given the choice, people would always side with Vader over him. Not because he is more dangerous if he wanted you dead, but because the Empire is a much more visible threat to life as the hidden secrecy of Black Sun's operations.

_People fear what they__ can see.  
_And now they see me. And they fear me. Slowly my reputation begins to work for me again. It makes things so much easier, the quarry is more inclined to give up, more convinced that resistance is futile. He now has to work against his own subconscious as well as me. And the caution has risen. As if I had betrayed Black Sun by working for the Empire. There is no loyalty in this business.

_No loyalty, no love.  
_I can't use any attachments, not business partners, much less friends and even less love.  
I remember, thinking about it in the asylum. _S__trong and weak, hard and gentle, mine and free__, intelligence, wit and devotion, courage and loyalty._ It still sounds all right.  
_Loyalty, there it is.  
_And well should be.  
_But how to earn it without giving it? Trust breeds trust.  
_No loyalty, no love. I can't remember having any need for either.  
_I can't remember everything, yet.  
_I can remember enough.

It seems strange, almost obscene, that now that I stopped groping for my memories they come sneaking back silently, almost imperceptibly. I do not notice, until I suddenly think back and there are the images and events, as if I had never had problems recalling them.  
Candy in my childhood? Rare, but it did happen.  
And I did play. With my father.  
Religion? Don't make me laugh.  
Art? Not much use and seldom highly paid for, even for its retrieval.  
Mandalorians? My father was one, but I am not. I can pretend well, though.

I am the man inside the armour, as was he. Thinking about it, I was raised to be Mando. And I am not. One out of six duties, hell, I'm not even close. And still raised to be - It will have to wait for any other day. As long as I am not myself again, I will not decide on my future.  
_Why not?  
__There's not time like the present.  
__Who would disapprove? Who would take notice?  
__Where is the problem?  
_I am Boba Fett. That is the problem. Because right now, I am Jodo Kast to the rest of the galaxy. And I do not want to live a lie. I don't want Kee's lie to live. I don't want her running around as my father's son.

Jango, he was there. Not always, but more than his job actually would allow. He did withdraw from bounty hunting somewhat for raising me. I did not grow up without love.  
_I live without it now.  
_I can't remember missing it.  
_What about Sintas?  
_We were young. It did not work.  
_And I gave up?  
_Does Boba Fett give up? Ever?


	34. Another Month Later

Another Month Later

It had not been enough.  
The impact of Thyne's death, the ensuing missions and bounties, it was not enough to earn even a glance from Kees. She has the arrogant hunter down to perfection. To be noticed, I would have to steal a bounty head out under her nose. I am working on that. But as long as she has the exclusive use of some of my more expensive contacts - well, I knew what I was doing when I contracted them. they are always that crucial heartbeat faster with their information than everybody else. And so Kees is already in hyperspace, when I am still doing pre-flight preps.

There is nothing more annoying than to see your own ship shoot past you into hyperspace and knowing that, whatever prey you were after is aboard and way out of reach. To be beaten in your own game for whatever reasons is annoying. But I have a long memory, and Kees will have much to account for before this is over. If I cannot steal a bounty, I have to think of something else. If I cannot get to her, I must make her come for me. And I will.

The more difficult this gets, the harder the hammer will fall in the end. It does not do to annoy Boba Fett.

In a way it has already started. I did not intend it, but I can not be faulted when to some people all Mandalorian armours look the same. Especially, when I am convinced that Kast chose his set just because of it's similarity to mine. Not my fault at all. But it was enough to fool some.

It was easy to return to the habitus of my old self, maybe it was not even a conscious decision. The hunt just brings it along, the tensing of the muscles, scanning of the surrounding the continued stated of heightened awareness as not to miss anything. It feels different when I move now. As Lancer I was more laid back, but then I could afford to, being in the secure environment of the asylum. Like an unwound spring that is now tense again, ready to spring at the slightest trigger. _Too much tension, for too long periods._

It is not as if I didn't relax again. When the doors of the _Foxcatch_ seal behind me, when I know myself unobserved, and that is enough. I am not used to this lack of tension, it takes an effort, ritual. Taking off the helmet, flexing neck and shoulders, and if that does not suffice, take a hot shower, feeling the water pouring down and wash away the tenseness. _I have not done this before_.

_I did not feel as divided before_. I was a whole, a hunter, nothing else. Now, now I am also myself in a strange detached way. There is a part of me that does not belong to the hunt anymore, a part that demands respite. _And a set of canvas and colours._ I am not the perfect predator anymore. Am I not perfect anymore? More than human, less than human, my conviction is wavering from one to the other. More, less, more? _Does it matter?_

To me it does. I was perfect before. _Perfect predator.  
_Can I accept less than perfect? _Perfectly human._

I prefer to hunt. There is no time for haunting distractions like that in the hunt. There is no mercy in the hunt. There is only the hunt.  
And the prey is wearing my face.


	35. Much Later Again Entry 35

Later Again.  
This is getting silly, I think I'll drop this.

Entry number 35

Lorna Kees is dead. Presumed dead. Dropped into the Sarlacc. Eaten.  
I do not really believe it. 'Presumed' is a very extendable term, I know better then to trust it. Kees has done a pretty good job being me and between my armour and her wits, I don't put it beyond her to have gotten out. Not unhurt, it is a Sarlacc after all, and probably with some help. I don't know, maybe she even needs some time to recover now. The timing is good, if not what I had intended.

_Time for me to act.  
_Time to play the brazen impostor, the guy who believes it safe to impersonate a dead man.  
_The irony of it.  
_But I have not time to think about that now.  
_When will the right time be?  
_Probably never.  
_I could go and have a look._

But that would be folly. The moment Jabba's death got known on Tatooine, his palace will have been ransacked. And since there was nobody around to assume his power, the chaos will have been substantial. Good luck I did not have any deposits there. Hutts are just not trustworthy. There will be little left by now. Nothing, more likely. Whatever the remainders of his household could not carry off, mercenaries and treasure hunters will have collected. Jabba was too well-known not to have his treasures abstracted the moment he was dead.

And for the leftovers of the sail barge in the Dune Sea, the Jawas have already made short work of anything left. If it was metal or electronics, they have picked it up. So even if there had been evidence of Kees in the vicinity, the armour was gone long time by now. _My armour, gone._ I wonder how well it did protect her from the digestive fluids of the Sarlacc. Maybe I will have to keep her alive for a while to get some answers.

_Alive.  
_It's funny how we are both dead right now without actually being dead at all. In the past I had staged my death a few times. It can be easier to achieve something if you are presumed dead. But then, nobody else took my life while I played dead. _Nobody dared._ The other bounty hunters feared me too much to try such a con. _But Lorna Kees had no idea who I am._ It took a complete stranger to impersonate me. Would she have done so, if she had known? Another breath of live gained by another answer I'd like.

_I __didn't have questions before.  
_There was nothing I wanted to know except the price on the head and the difference between dead and alive. Nothing else mattered. The clear-cut simplicity of it is beautiful. Alluring and tempting, an easy way to go, no matter how difficult the tasks. I never wondered about the 'why' of it. The only answer I was after was the transferring of credits to my account. The monetary 'well done' as impersonal as the rest of the business.

But now, I want to know. _I really want to know.  
_Genuine interest is - no not new, but something I had but forgotten. It started with Sinar. I still have to find a way to help Sinar. Still, it is not like an infection festering on my personality, encompassing all I get to meet. _I am as distanced as ever. I have not changed._

But what if I fool myself? What if I _am_ obsessed? Never before has a single person arisen that much interest in me before, and we have not even met. Maybe that is it. The mystery dissolves when seen face to face. _That is what the helmet is for._ So I can be sure that detachment will return after I settled the score.

_And what then?  
_Then I will be myself again. My old self, my true self.  
_Now who is trying to fool himself?  
_No, I will be myself again. My father's son, with my father's ship.  
_And __your father's legacy?  
_Ner buir, ner cuyir.  
But I am no Mando'a.


	36. Entry 36

Entry 36

Lorna Kees is still alive. I don't care what the rest of the galaxy believes, I know it. Rumours of Fett being seen have come up and they were not from my carefully staged appearances. Additionally, the Sarlacc is also assumed dead.

_She killed it.  
_I don't know how she managed that feat. The Sarlacc is a huge beast, nobody really knew how far into the ground it extended. But Kees refused to be eaten and killed it instead.  
Fett _refused to be eaten.  
__Is there a difference? _

Even if most of the galaxy believes her to be dead now, I know better.  
_Who is believed dead?  
_Me?  
Her?  
Fett?  
_And who would 'Fett' be?  
_Me?  
Her?  
Something different completely?

It feels strange to take 'Boba Fett' as an abstract concept that works (and lives) independently of either of us. Does that make us expandable? Does that make individuality superfluous? Does it matter if you have a personality, are one, just imitate one? Does it matter what kind of person I am?

It certainly matters when I take off the armour to be myself. Maybe it does not matter during the hunt. It does not matter then. Nothing else matters then. But in-between, before, after, when I accept a bounty, decide who to hunt.  
_I compromise myself when I let the hunter decide.  
__I compromise myself when I let my ethics decide.  
__Am I but a compromise?_

_Everybody is but a compromise between their goals and their ethics. Kees compromised all her ethics for the goal of staying alive. _

No. No I am not a compromise. Even in my genes there is no compromise between the dispositions of my parents. No mixing of attributes, no watering down of one aspect or another. There is only one trait, one possibility, one outcome. _Does that make perfect? _Predestined, predefined, predetermined. _Perfect is nonsense._ But so is predestination.

I know who I was, I know who I could be, but still I have no idea who I really am, or who I want to be. _Myself_. Easy enough, but to define the innermost core that makes up who you are is no easier to find now than it was in the asylum. It is like trying to figure out a small, intricate object that is hidden in the middle of a plasbag full of sand. _But I know it is there. _And I know nobody can take it form me.


	37. Entry 37

Entry 37

The impossible has happened. The news did not filter slowly through the usual channels, it burst into the galaxy like a nova springing from Endor.  
_The Emperor is dead.  
__The Empire is lost.  
__Long live the Republic._

Of course, it will not be that easy. The rebels would be fools to believe that the Empire will just collapse with Palpatine gone. There are enough power-hungry Moffs and officers around who will try to use the Emperor's demise to their advantage. On Coruscant the struggles will already be in full swing. That will make it easier for the rebels to take the power from the Empire completely, and I don't think the fighting factions realize that. Their lust for power is too great, and many would rather see it taken from the rebels than leave it to a fellow Imperial.

It is a symbolic victory, though. The Emperor, Vader and a good portion of the imperial fleet all done for in one go. It is important to have a reputation, it can do a lot of work for you. I know, and the rebels are about to find out. When you killed the Emperor, people might be much less inclined to mess with you. Exceptions to be expected. I heard they have a Bothan in their ranks. If that is true, infighting is only a matter of time.

Palpatine never allowed aliens in his upper circles, well almost never, and he knew why. Reputation is all very fine, but different species have different views and what might impress one might just make another laugh. It is much easier to deal with minds that think alike, easier to control, easier to manipulate. Take that alleged Bothan. He will act in his typical Bothan ways and soon have annoyed the humans in the new government with what they perceive to be backstabbing. And while he tries time and again to grasp as much power for himself as he can, the humans will react in their typical human ways. Namely try to turn him into a human thinking Bothan. _It cannot work._ They might think they understand, but each is just talking to a counterpart that has a completely different mindset. The words they exchange will have little meaning, because they can never mean the same to them.

But that is their problem. First they will have to fight through the imperial strongholds, anyway. _I can't see many of the core world change their affiliation any day soon._ It might not yet have occurred to the rebels that not everybody is thinking as they do about the Empire. It might be a hard awakening when they see there were real supporters of the system. Not everybody was threatened into silence. Many have profited from the Empire, they will not approve now.

What does surprise me, though, is the open support of Kuat Drive Yards. They were always known for their vehemently guarded independence. Kuat of Kuat never joined the Empire but made sure that his business was only doing business, no strings attached. His insistence on neutrality put him into a very precarious position, not only with Palpatine, but with everybody else. Many did not trust his claims and others questioned his morality instead. _As if that mattered. _Kuat of Kuat lead his business with the same single-mindedness I hunt. Morality is a question that does not come up. If it is good for the business, it is good.

Lorna Kees is still lying low. I do not know why. Latest rumours had it, that she teamed up with Dengar for a while, but though it is clear that Dengar is now retired and married, no word has come about Kees. She is said to have been his best man. Can you believe it? Best _man_! But Dengar is not as closemouthed about that, as he is about the time he spent with Kees. Loyalty, if I ever saw it. But why?

Also it seems I am not the only one interested in taking her place, too. Already I have disposed of two other bounty hunters, trying to collect my name and reputation. And it was satisfaction to see them believe, to see them convinced to have run into the real Boba Fett. They knew, and they were right. _It feels good to be recognized as myself._ Even if it is just plans within plans and schemes within schemes yet. I made sure to have eyewitnesses survive the confrontations. If Kees is listening, she will soon enough hear about it. Whenever she is through with the scheme of hers that requires her to appear dead. I expect her to resurface with a bang.

But until that happens, I will make good use of the time. Terminating another few Fett-wannabes, staging some more appearances as Boba Fett, setting a trap, in which Kees will try to trap me.


	38. Entry 38

Entry 38

The fall of the Empire was short and it did not land very hard. As expected, many worlds are reluctant to change their loyalties and the rebels have more on their hands with convincing those willing to change that there will be no repercussions of the Empire than with actually gaining new worlds for their scheme. This will change as soon as it becomes clear that they are indeed the winning side, but until then, the road will be difficult.

Not so for the bounty hunting trade. In the aftermath of Endor, a million small conflicts have already resurfaced. Fighting that had been kept at bay by the Empire's merciless punishments are starting to bloom again. Planetary feuds are taken up, long subdued interplanetary wars blaze up, those who got along with their neighbours because they had to, rediscover how nice it had been to hate and fight them.

It is a good time to be a bounty hunter. In this political chaos, there is no legal force strong enough to enforce the laws, the only laws that lasted are the law of the stronger and that of the richer. Money can buy the justice one always sought, independently from annoying paperwork and time-consuming trails. A blaster bolt in the head is a very frequent verdict. For those more vengeful, a prisoner at their disposal is even more desirable, and with no law enforcement on their backs, getting money to purchase fitting services is easy.

There are more commissions that hunters around, and new faces flock to the trade. Quick and easy money is a strong lure, and I do not believe that many of the newcomers really know what they get themselves into. Because to get the money, you first have to capture the prey. And that means you need a ship and equipment. And you will have to take care of that, and make sure you get replacements and supplies. Real bounty hunting is not a cheap business. Also, it is not a game.

And it is not easy to return to a 'normal' life afterwards. Often hunters think it is just a fast way to earn some money, but what they fail to see is, that being a bounty hunter changes you. No matter what you believe, the attitude you need to be successful in this trade is difficult to get rid off again. I could have tried, I could have chosen a different path, but I did not. There was no appeal in the regular paths of a normal life once you got accustomed to the tension of the hunt. The steady rush of adrenaline gets you as addicted as any other drug. What could ever replace that?

_Love.  
_

Dengar managed to get out of the trade. He married and lives a small life somewhere with his wife and kids. It is quite a feat to have achieved, it is something you really have to want. There is nothing I can think of, which could make me want to stop. Bounty hunting has always been my life. I have been trained to do it. _And to become a Mando'a. _I know nothing else. _And I have not tried anything else, either. _Why am I trying to justify myself? For whom?  
I am what I am, and it is my decision to remain.


	39. Entry 39

Entry 39

So I went back to Tatooine, so what?  
It's not as if I came back to - well, make certain of things. I did fly over the old sarlacc pity, admitted, but I took measurements of the new formations in the dunes. According to those, the beast must have been pretty big. Even with the most dells already filled with new sand by now, the dimensions of the changes is incredible. Where the sarlacc's extensions had rotted away, new ditches had appeared, and they crisscrossed the sand miles around the actual pit.

The pit itself is still there, a crater in the sands. There is no gaping hole at it's bottom anymore, the tendrils of the sarlacc have all dried and rotten, it looks pretty safe. But if you look closely, you can still see the sand slowly sinking in the middle of the hole. I bet it's more treacherous than quicksand, and also more deadly. On a whim I tossed a piece of junk into it and watched it vanish slowly. Though the sarlacc is dead, this is still a nasty place to kill somebody slowly. I will remember this.

I went to find the depot I set up years ago. Since I was already there, I thought it might be a good idea to empty it. With Jabba dead there was no reason to return to this dustball, and I didn't want my spare armour to geo to waste.

Hand it to Kees, she had already been there. The depot was - not emptied but changed. The pieces of armour looked rusted, the fringes were eroded, the material brittle. I wondered what could have such an effect on Mandalorian steel, it is one of the most durable materials in the galaxy.

When I scratched at the corroded metal, bits came of, and crumbled in the sand. The colour was all but gone, anyway. It must have been the sarlacc. Such a huge creature known to eat anything, must have rather strong digestive juices. Scraping at the breastplate, I wondered how Kees had gotten out. And how it had been, inside that monster. _She killed it._ Boba Fett killed it. _Kees killed it,_ and that is - impressive. _Even if I try not to be_. I could have done that. _Yes, I could._ I didn't.

The provisions had been refilled, the ammunition only in parts. More exotic bullets were missing, as was all clothing. Not that I was surprised, Kees would not need that either way. All in all, the depot did not look as if she intended to return. I picked up the ammunition and the ration bars. It was strange to feel a little guilty about taking back what was mine. _What if she dies of it? _But she would most likely not return. _What if she does?_ Well, I'll see to it that she has no time to return.

That was also a reason to return. I have been to Tatooine often, if somebody would realize I was not Fett, it would be here. The subtle differences of the markings, the different colour scheme. If somebody noticed, then here. _They did not._ I had no trouble passing for myself, my true self. The galaxy does not pay enough attention to detail.

Not that I care, it helps my plans. I strutted around a little in Mos Eisley and Mos Espa, making sure to be seen and taken for Fett. Kees needs to get her attention back to business. Business with me.

I do not think I will come back. Not if circumstances don't demand it. There is nothing for me here in this desert of a planet. And I have left nothing on this desert planet either.


	40. Entry 40

Entry 40

The hardest lesson to learn is that sometimes there is no hope. And I know I should have learned long ago. Maybe I didn't want to see, no, I _know_ I didn't want to. I tried though.

The rebellion has claimed Coruscant, founded a new republic and they have heroes - and a princess.  
Remembering what I had written him in my last report, I pulled a lot of strings. Newly elected heads of state have a lot on their agenda without being responsible for madmen. Officially mad madmen, that is. But I managed to get the Princess and some rebel heroes into the mad house and 'free' him. Public relations will make people do strange and senseless things.

though I did not dare interfere directly, I stayed close by and watched. They came, they found him and they were ready to take him along. It was all as good as it could be. But Sinar didn't get it. He stayed in his own universe and his babbling about the last of Grand Admirals that was still out there and planning the destruction of the rebellion in general and him in special got on everybody's nerves soon. And who'd believe the ramblings of a madman about an alien Grand Admiral anyway, when everybody just knows how anti-alien the Empire was.

I wondered how and why Sinar had changed his paranoia, why and when he had replaced the Emperor with that Grand Admiral, and of course, how come he knows? That the rebels don't know and don't even consider it is no surprise. So he's back. back in the hospital, back in his old room, back with his broken toys and gadgets. He swears that the glowing eyes of that Grand Admiral follow him in the darkness and that his new enemy is guarded by deadly grey shadows. They increased his dose of medication.

And I wonder, wonder where he gets his information from, which if his toys is actually working, or if it is just the mischievous joke of somebody in the remnant of Imperial intelligence. Hiding the truth in plain sight can be an effective tool. And who'd ever know? So I went to see him.

Sinar did recognise me, when I came to his room. It had taken some persuasion of the nurses, but the whole staff seems to have been replaced after the fall of the Empire, I did not recognize anybody. And none of the inhabitants recognised me. The empress was holding court in the common room as I passed, everything was just the same. only that everybody looked a little older. Did I, too?

When I entered, Sinar looked up shortly from the gadget he was putting together. I recognized a hair dryer, bits of a till and a broken pad.

"I'm back," I said.

"Did you get them?"

"I found out who it was, and revenge is planned."

Sinar nodded. "Planning is important. Without a good plan, you have no chance."

"What about you?" I asked. "Now that the Emperor is dead."

Sinar looked thoughtful for a moment, then he shook his head slowly. "The Emperor may be dead, but his minions are not. There is a Grand Amiral, he's pretty sneaky, manipulative. Most people even believe he does not exist. If that is not a stroke of genius." He looked at me. "Be happy, you found the culprit and are able to hunt him down."

It was incredible. If I had not seen that Admiral for myself, I would have thought him as mad as everybody else. "And the rebels with Organa? Don't you think they can help you?"

He shook his head. "They mean well, but they have too much on their hands. And as governments are, something always leaks. You have no idea about the intelligence hidden in the palace. No, it is not safe for me." Putting down his tools, he began to search a heap of debris.

"But I can help myself. I always have and I never got caught. I outsmarted even the Emperor." Satisfaction rang in his voice. "Now that it's only a Grand Admiral I'm up against," he pulled a sun-shaped object from the heap. "well, I won't need that anymore. I am working on my own spyware," he indicated the mess on his desk with the black object. "Nothing will be hidden from me, and I will know about all attempts for my life in no time. You have more need of this."

He held the object towards me, and automatically I took it. It was cold, very smooth and not too heavy.

Sinar picked up a hydrospanner and pointed at the object. "You will find it very useful."

With that he returned his attention to his spyware, obviously considering the conversation to be over. It was a strange feeling. He sounded reasonable, and still, and still. I turned the object over in my hands, but apart from a few winding decorations it was completely smooth,, a little larger than my outspread hand.

I looked at Sinar again, but he had already forgotten about me. His attention was on the electronics before him, his concentration obvious. What did he hope to achieve with a hair dryer and a till? Assaulting Thrawn with hot air until he sold his soul?

I left, frustrated, and a little confused. I could not understand why Sinar should prefer to live in his imaginary world. It might have become less dangerous and gloomy with Palpatine gone, but still. He believed he was in danger of being murdered any time. Why should he want that? I can just hope that my mischievous urge to confront that alien Grand Admiral with his fan never gets the better of me.

The mysterios object now lies on my table as I stare at it. For a pendant it is huge, also, one of the sun beams is missing. I wonder why I think 'sun' it's black all over. I wonder what Sinar saw in it and why he should think I'd need it more than him. But then, so much about him is a riddle. Almost everything but one:

_T__here is no hope for Sinar - this I know._


	41. Entry 41

Entry 41

I am a fool. A fool of fools, king of fools, if there is such a thing.

That's what you get for thinking yourself normal, and dismissing craziness as nonsense. Should have known better. I knew better, but I forgot. _They said I'd forget if I remembered._ But I didn't think it would happen so slowly, imperceptibly. I thought it would happen in one big bang, and all memory of Lancer to be lost.

_I am still here.  
_I forgot still. Forgot how is was, living inside the mad house, how sane everything in there was in its own weird way. How being there did not mean you were a complete idiot. _Getting out turns you into one soon enough.  
_It does.

For days the thing Sinar gave me just laid there. I wondered a little why he had given it to me. I should have asked him what he thought it could do. But I didn't. He's mad, how serious can you take him? What can he possibly tell you, and why should I enter into his nightmare again? I had no reasons. I have not time for games.

I have no time for anything but the hunt. I am myself again. I am Boba Fett.  
_And a fool._

When I finally decided to put object away, I found the other thing Sinar gave me when I left. The material was similar and when I tried to fit it into the missing slot, it did. Not only that. the moment the sun was complete, a signal flickered over the dark surface of the round centrepiece. It was not just a reflection moving over the smooth surface as I turned it, it had been inside the object. When I touched the surface, a signal jumped up and then it went black again.

Carefully, I removed the ray again, and when I inserted it, I watched the object intently. It was the same, first a flicker, and a signal flashing out when I touched the middle piece. It was gone to fast for me to make anything of it. But I had become curious. I got my helmet and recorded the signal, watching it as a freeze image. It was nothing I recognised, though. I fed the image into my ship's comp and searched the holonet for information. And since I was at it already, I did the same with the object itself.

After a little research, it turned out to be an artefact, old technology used hundreds of years ago, preferredly by - the Sith. A Sith artefact. I wonder how Sinar came to have it. Did it just turn up in a pile of junk one day, or did he have it before he was committed to the asylum? Was it the reason he feared Palpatine so much? The Emperor would surely have liked to get his hands on it.

The rays turned out to be removable data storage, and it was likely that other hardware could be attached to the main piece, too. The sign that flashed up when I attached the last ray was just telling me that all ports were full and the object ready. I wondered who would be able to see the sign well enough in such a short time to realize that. Maybe a Sith.

The workings were pretty intuitive. Some places were sensitive to pressure, light or sound. It took only a few hours to get a rudimentary access to the data stored in the rays. I know why Sinar gave me one of them: it was full with everything about the Clone Wars. The real version, not history. I was enraged to learn that my father obviously got caught in a conflict that had not been real, but a play staged to put Palpatine into power. Had he not been dead yet, I would have gotten him within the next hours. It was almost unbelievable that he should have staged a whole galaxy-spanning war just to become emperor. Or was it?

What was I willing to do to reach my goal? What was I willing to sacrifice, to invest, to see through? Just because my goal did not need a galaxy spanning war to work, did that mean I would not stage one if I had to?  
Would I?

The other compartments were stuffed with political information about the late Empire. One for the military, one for economy, one for COMPNOR and even more secret organisations, one with plans for a future that would never come to pass. But the last ray was even the most interesting, there seemed to be no special order to it. There were many folders, named after no coherent system. Their colour scheme was inconsistent, too, blue, red and black folders some even with icons next to their names.

After browsing for a while, it became more and more clear that this was a part of Palpatines extensive spy network. The folders were for individual sources, the colours showing the time that had passed since they last reported in. The icons meant that they had been found out, killed, or worse. And some folders were still active. Most prominent was somebody called Delta Source. He reported regularly, and mostly on the going-ons of the senate. Amazing that nobody noticed, and the spy hadn't stopped with Palpatine dead and the Empire gone. Or he was now reporting to somebody else, an Imperial who had decided to gather up what Palpatine left. That would be something to keep in mind.

I did not know if any of the other information would be of use to me, but I would find out.


	42. Entry 42

Entry 42

Time went by without me realizing. The artefact was very useful indeed. I was able to attain a few bounty heads before their names were actually out in the ether. It makes them much easier to collect if they don't feel hunted. It was no challenge, and I soon gave up on it. Only if the bounty promised to be very high, I resorted to this method.

_I still prefer to hunt._

It seems to be something ingrained in each bounty hunter. Even Dengar, who married and allegedly retired is still taking on bounties from time to time. Not that he is any competition, he has never been. Back, when I split up the Bounty Hunter's Guild, I used him a few times. I know his weaknesses well.

I think Kees hooked up with him after the incident with the sarlacc. After all, Dengar found her and brought her back to life; she would feel she owed him. Additionally, she cannot stand being completely on her own. The opportunity to get involved with Dengar might not have been planned, but she certainly appreciates having friends again.

_Stupid._

Because this is how I will get her, through her friends. The easiest way to get an elusive prey into a trap is baiting them with their friends. Better still, baiting them, without their knowledge. I have already created another identity, one that will set up a bounty Dengar cannot resist. Only a few details have to be observed before I can set my plan into motion. It will feel good to be myself again.

Then, a few days ago, the information of the artefact ran dry. Not a single source, but all of them From one day to the next, non reported anything new. It was especially obvious with Delta Source which used to be punctual like clockwork. For a week I monitored the folders, but nothing happened. Whoever had been directing the information to it still, had stopped.

I guess that there is indeed a new commander of the Imperials, one who's pretty crafty and thorough. He realized that information leaked out, even if nobody knew where to. He's a careful one, disconnecting the whole unit from the system. He's most likely trying to track the item, too. Since I don't know how and if it works in detail and if there is a transmitter in it, I decided to get rid of it. Returning it to Sinar was not an option. I did not want to be responsible for Sinar's fate in the case that it was indeed found.

I copied the important data from the artefact to the ship's comp. Then I jettisoned it in hyperspace. _Try to find me now._


	43. Entry 43

Entry 43

The set up was perfect, and Dengar fell for it immediately. Putting up a bunch of pirates that attacked New Republic ships had been easy, as had everything else. The most difficult part had been appearing sloppy. I hate making mistakes, but this time I had no choice. So I made sure to almost drop into the spiked pit when it opened and dangle for a while and wait foor Dengar to save my hide. The show had to be perfect, after all.

And it was. Dengar did not realize what happened until I held my blaster to his temple and demanded the last bounty head. What was strange, though was that he seemed to take me for Kees at first. Was her act that good? I could not believe it. The fact that I did not act as if I knew him finally threw him onto the right track though. It would be better for him to retire if he has become slow like that.

"You're that Kast guy. Jodo Kast," he accused me. It was almost comical. He assured me he wouldn't kill me since it was not his style. Of course, I knew that already.

"I don't trust anybody. Keeps me alive," I replied, making sure the fake pirate would not wake up to tell his tale.

"Being smart keeps you alive," Dengar countered. "And masquerading as Boba Fett is not smart."

I had him now. No matter what, he would contact Kees and insist that she finally do something. Since Jabba's demise she had kept an extremely low profile. Fett could still be hired, but only if you had enough money and kept things quiet. A clever move if she wanted more time to spend as herself, but it meant that she could not risk an impostor running around ruining that.

So she will come out now. And then, I have her.  
Choiceless.  
Chanceless.  
Mine.

I must admit that she has kept my reputation well. She has been is good at being me and it is probably better this way, than if I had been lost for a the time. I might thank her, though she might not be alive to hear it.

The time to write is over.  
Now, it is time to hunt.


	44. Entry 44

Note: contains **major spoilers** for the end of '**I, Boba'**. If Kees is not making sense to you, reading that might help to.

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Entry 44

All too easy.  
She did what I would have done, what I have done, she placed a bounty. And she asked for Jodo Kast specifically, on the grounds the Fett was not available. _Well informed._ Badly misinformed. The whole mission reeked of set up, I had a destination where to find the alleged Satnik Hiicrop, the bounty was extremely high, and even higher for alive.

I did not expect to find anybody but Kees.  
And I was right.  
_And all wrong._

She went about the set up careful, choosing a place she knew well and where nobody would care about yet another shoot out. I set the _Foxcatch_ down on Nal Hutta six days after the incident with Dengar. He must have been very annoyed indeed. Still I was sure her traps were lethal, I would not play the klutz this time.

The victim was supposedly hiding in a bunker-like building in the middle of nowhere. I entered cautiously, triggering the photo sensor only after realising what it would do. So when the floor under me suddenly sloped down, I simply rode it on my heels, keeping my blaster ready. But nothing attacked yet. Another blast door came up. It was gimmicked perfectly, short circuiting would have taken hours. Blasting a hole into it carefully took only minutes. I made sure nothing dropped to the floor on the other side, and when I could finally scan it, my guess proved to be right. The ground just behind it was rigged with pressure sensors. I was not keen on finding out what they launched. But then, I didn't have to. A quick climb and short rocket pack enhanced jump later, I stood in the middle of a small rectangular room with no other exit.

A scan showed that there was no way to get through the walls, so I aimed at the ceiling instead. This was annoyingly accurately laid out. I shot a magnetic grappler at it, climbed through the hole and threw a piece of rubble at the pressure sensor. Immediately, a laser web sprang into life, turning the chamber into a death trap. This was highly professional. The Kast I had shown Dengar would have been fried by now.

The upper level was dark and derelict, a small access panel was beckoning me, as if I could shut down the remaining defences from there. _How stupid could a bounty hunter be_? I wondered. Such obvious traps. Finally, I got to the lightened part of the building. I short circuited another door and found me in a huge room. It was two storeys tall, a stair leading from the door right down to a holograph of a human lying on the floor. I shook my head.

Underestimation, the first step towards death. How could anybody wearing a helmet equipped like a Mandalorian fall for such a crude trick?

As it turned out, Kees didn't even expect me to.

"You're dead." Her blaster connected with the back of my helmet.

As if. But her approach was commendable. It would have worked on anybody. Anybody, but me. I ignited the rocket pack, jerking my head to the left at the same moment. This forced her to step back, and gave me the time to come around, all systems ready, and blaster pointing at the weakest point of the armour. She didn't stumble, she didn't even retreat further than a single step. She kept her ground like Boba Fett. Then she raised her flamethrower, forcing me to sidestep to the right. I prepared for the next assault, getting the fibre cord ready, but instead of attacking, she used her jet pack like a sledge and knocked my feet out under me. A clever move, rather creative and effective. I blocked the coming blow with my right gauntlet, trying to get a good grip on her, but she was slippery. We tried to get a grip on the other.

I tired of the game. When her back was against the floor again, I pulled at her in a way that set her rocket pack going again. We sped towards the nearest wall, but there was enough time to tear her upwards, and shoot a hole into the ceiling as we sped towards it. On out way out, I used the oldest codes I had, hacked my own system and shut everything down.

I let go of her, let her drop several feet before tying her hands with the fibre cord, stopping her fall rather painfully. Pay back time.

She landed on her feet, but then stood unmoving, waiting. There was nothing she could do. Her whole armour was under my control now, finally, again. A dark prison with a t-shaped window. I put my blaster to her temple.

"So show you face, Lorna Kees."

She jumped when she heard her name. I grabbed her helmet and pulled it off.

"You didn't earn this armour. You didn't earn this reputation."

"No," she whispered, "I have not."

That was not what I expected. Why was she not fighting back? "Indeed you have not." I took off my own helmet, confronting her with the truth.

"_I_ am Boba Fett."

She did not move, for a short eternity, she just stared, all kinds of emotions flickering over her face.

"You're alive!" it then burst out of her. "You're not dead at all, you're alive!"

This was not what I had expected at all. _Of course not._ She was not making any sense._ But she looked happy. _Suddenly she actually threw herself at me.  
_I have never seen anybody so happy to see me alive.  
__I have never before seen anybody so happy to see me.  
__I have never before seen anybody so happy._

I tugged her off me with the cord. Why didn't this go as planned? Why did she have to react in such a unpredictable _- feminin -_ way. Why have I not shot her? _Helpless_. Why was I unsure what to do?

"Why?"

She looked at me, tears still streaking down her face. No matter what she felt, she was not afraid of me the least. Why?

"I thought you were dead. And I was so scared of Black Sun. I didn't know where to go? I was so scared." She paused and shook her head. "I thought, they'd never find me in that armour, I thought, I'd be safe, beyond their reach. I thought it would be the easiest way. I thought - I thought you were dead." The last words were but a whisper.

"Well, I am not dead."

"Yes," a smile crept over her face. "Yes, you're not." Suddenly, she became serious. "You'll want the ship back and all that, I guess." She tugged at her bound hands, but when she found the still bound, she only shrugged. "Go, help yourself, I didn't change much."

There was no resistance. There was no hesitation. There was nothing to fight. I was completely unprepared for this._ I know_. I did not know what to do. _I know.  
__I__ will do._

"Get going," I told her, emphasising the words with a wave of my blaster, though I did release her. Why?

The _SlaveI_ stood not far from where I had landed, hidden by the bulk of another building. Her familiar frame looked little different than when I had seen her the last time. Repairs had been don, obviously, and in some places the paint had been redone. She was beautiful. She opened when I transmitted the override. She was mine.

Kees said nothing when the ramp lowered, said nothing as we went inside. And she was still as I remembered her, the short corridor, the walls of steel and electronics, the same that I remembered from my childhood days, the same that I remembered from all my life. Unchanged.  
Almost.

"I'm sorry," Kees whispered. She said more, but I didn't listen.

The whole sleeping quarter was littered with scratches. Orderly, consciously made scratches, always five in a group. Rows, rows and endless rows of them. She had been counting the days. I let my hand slide over the nearest wall, feeling the uneven surface. Counting the days.

"I will keep them."

She stripped out of the armour and into a simple jumpsuit right there. As if I wasn't there.  
As if I didn't matter.  
As if I didn't care.  
I don't care.  
Of course, I don't.

Then she began to remove systematically every trace of herself. She stuffed some clothing into a duffle bag, added a handful of personal possessions from a drawer and moved on. Suddenly, she froze, staring at my father's helmet. So it was still there - untouched. Good for her.

"By then." She patted it gently, before she began removing her things from the 'fresher.

She patted my father's helmet. She actually _patted_ it! How dare she? And what could it mean to her? I frowned darkly at her back. She did not notice.

When she turned and came out again, the duffel bag was full. "I took up the bad habit of stim caf," she said. "If you don't want it, I'll take it along, the rest is pretty much standard food…" She trailed off, looking at me, cocking her head slightly.

"You don't seem happy. Why?"

I had no answer for her. I had too many answers for her.

"Not happy about being yourself again? I certainly had enough of that for a life time." She sighed.

"You don't want to be Boba Fett?"

"No."

_Why?_ "So what _do_ you want?"

She measured me, cradling the duffle bag. "What I want? What I really want?" Her eyes unfocussed. "I want to stand up in the morning and have breakfast. I want to go to my job at the office and shuffle flimsies and data all day. I want to chat with my colleagues over a cup of caf. I want to spend my money in shopping sprees. I want a good excuse to buy an expensive dress and real break-neck high heels, and then I and to wear them. I want friends and little every day problems. And then, one day, I want to meet somebody, settle down, raise a family." She bit her lip, then nodded to herself, her expression strained.

"Is that too much to ask for?"

_I think it's not._ Being me, that is too much to ask for. _Did she ask for that?_ Too many questions. _Only one answer._

She stayed aboard for the day it took to get her new identity and history. I spent the time assessing what she had done to the _Slave_. _I spent the time thinking._ It was too crammed on the ship for two. I couldn't wait to have her gone. I couldn't wait. It took too long. It took all I had. It took to long.

I couldn't bear the thought of her sleeping in my bunk. I could not bear her presence, her silence, her downcast eyes, the way she was almost not there. She was there. Not for long. Too long. Silence.

I still don't understand it.  
Of course, I do.  
Well, why she did it, that I understand.  
But why did I?  
It is not like me at all.  
For Sinar.  
As if somebody else took over and acted instead.  
For Lancer.  
Still - I let her go.  
For me.


	45. Entry 45

Entry 45

I don't know why, but every now and then I get the urge, the need, to write things down. To make sure it is not forgotten. I think it is Lancer. He is still there, but I am, what life has made me, what I chose to be and become. There is little place for Lancer.

The galaxy has not become a better place while I was gone. In fact, the galaxy doesn't even know I have missed. For an untrained layman, Kees has done a good job at keeping my business. Lancer would like to know how that sudden shift in morals has affected her. I don't care. I don't care who she is, and how she managed, I don't want to know what she thinks about being me. I don't care what she's doing now. I am who I am. That is enough.

I don't know if I have become a better person while I was gone, but with Lancer nagging at the back of my mind, so I think it's possible. The two of us don't match well: he wants to help Sinar, and I suggest putting him out of his misery quick and clean. Of course, Lancer is shocked. He believes in the good in Sinar, the part of him that could be saved.

It is not my job to save. It is not my job to save anybody but myself. I bring back bounties. I hunt. I am.

_Memories.  
_I know how important they can be now. There are things you have to remember, just to be yourself. So I write. I don't. I know.

There are scratches on my bulkhead. Thousands of them, stringed up neatly, always five in a group. My bunk looks like a prison cell, the scratches are everywhere. And I know, was I to count them, I would know how many days I have not been Boba Fett. I stroked the surface and remembered her downcast eyes.

Lorna Kees is really dead this time, I have seen to that. And she put up no resistance. That haunted look in her eyes disappeared the moment she realized what I was about to do. Sometimes it haunts my sleep.

When I remember the woman that left the _SlaveI_, I see Jerida Anasst. The short dark hair hidden under a colourful kerchief, and she smiled at me, as if it was just a casual parting, and nothing that meant forever. _I have never seen anybody so happy before._ It doesn't matter. _It could_. I don't care. I won't see her again.

I could. I know that she -, well, she's there - unconditional and nevertheless. And, for reasons I don't care to explore, it feels good to know that somewhere out there, she is, always will be. She doesn't even care, what I think about it. I have no say in this. I do not care.

"Should you ever be lonely…"

Those words haunt me sometimes. She should not have said it, it was not necessary. I am the wolf unto man. I have not time for loneliness.


End file.
